: 


THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  •    BOSTON   -    CHICAGO  -   DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •   SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


THE  FLIGHT  AND 
OTHER  POEMS 


BY 
GEORGE  EDWARD  WOODBERRY 


ff  orfc 

THE  MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1914 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1912,  1913, 
BY  GEOKGE  E.  WOODBEREY. 


COPYRIGHT,  1914, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 

Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  January,  1914. 


Ncrfocoto 

J.  S.  Cashing  Co.  — Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


f 


NOTE 

SEVERAL  of  these  poems  originally  appeared  in 
the  Atlantic  Monthly,  Century,  Harper's,  Scrib- 
ner's,  Outlook,  Forum,  North  American,  -Interna 
tional,  Independent,  Boston  Daily  Transcript,  and 
Old  Farmer's  Almanack.  Twenty-three  are  now 

first  published. 

G.  E.  W. 


300375 


PAGE 


CONTENTS 

PROEM  : 

The  Flight 3 

I.    THE  KINGDOM  OF  ALL-SOULS  AND  OTHER  POEMS  : 

The  Kingdom  of  All-Souls         ....  7 

What  the  Stars  Sang  in  the  Desert  ...  15 

The  Riding 20 

In  the  Oasis 25 

The  Winged  Eros  of  Tunis,  recovered  from  the 

sea  near  Mahdia  in  1904        ....  29 

The  Revenant 31 

The  Blue  Star 34 

The  Leopard 38 

The  White  Bone 41 

The  Way 44 

Beyond  Good  and  Evil 48 

Comrades 55 

II.    THE  POET  IN  ITALY  AND  OTHER  POEMS  : 

The  Poet  in  Italy 61 

Calogero 63 

Flower  of  Etna 68 

Orfeo 71 

TheFesta 73 

St.  John  and  the  Faun 75 

The  Sicilian 79 

A  Day  at  Castrogiovanni : 

I.   Etna 80 

II.   Proserpine  :  by  Lake  Pergusa        .         .81 

III.   Demeter 86 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Rhythm 96 

To  the  Venus  of  Syracuse      ....       98 

Helicon 99 

The  Delphian  Child 100 

The  Isle .104 

To  an  Ionian  Boy 107 

The  Mosque  at  Ephesus         .         .         .         .114 
The  Reveller  :  A  Vineyard  Song    .         .         .117 

By  the  Tyrrhene  Sea 120 

"  One  Last  Kiss  " 121 

"  In  Thy  Chambers "    .  .     121 

III.    THE  REED  AND  OTHER  POEMS: 

The  Reed 125 

Lines  for  the  Ingham  Memorial  at  Le  Roy, 

1911 133 

E.  A.  P .136 

"  Beautiful  Wings  " 139 

The  Dirge     ....  .         .     140 

Distance 143 

To  a  Child .144 

A  Life 146 

Death  and  Fame   ....  .147 

Peary's  Sledge        .  .  .         .     148 

The  Voice  of  the  Antarctic    .  .     149 

Fame     ....  -     150 

In  Memoriam  :  Charles  Eliot  Norton.  Read 
before  the  Alpha  Chapter  of  Phi  Beta 
Kappa,  Harvard,  June  16,  1913  .  .  151 

EPILOGUE  : 

The  Poet  to  the  Reader         .        .        .         .161 


PROEM 


THE  FLIGHT 

I 
WILD  HEART,  track  the  land's  perfume, 

Beach-roses  and  moor-heather  ! 
All  fragrancies  of  herb  and  bloom 

Fail,  out  at  sea,  together. 
O  follow  where  aloft  find  room 
Lark-song  and  eagle-feather  ! 
All  ecstasies  of  throat  and  plume 
Melt,  high  on  yon  blue  weather. 

0  leave  on  sky  and  ocean  lost 

The  flight  creation  dareth ; 
Take  wings  of  love,  that  mount  the  most ; 

Find  fame,  that  furthest  f areth  ! " 
Thy  flight,  albeit  amid  her  host 

Thee,  too,  night  star-like  beareth, 
Flying,  thy  breast  on  heaven's  coast, 

The  infinite  outweareth. 

3 


4       /c  THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

II 

"Dead  o'er  us  roll  celestial  fires; 

Mute  stand  earth's  ancient  beaches ; 
Old  thoughts,  old  instincts,  old  desires, 

The  passing  hour  outreaches ; 
The  soul  creative  never  tires,  — 

Evokes,  adores,  beseeches ; 
And  that  heart  most  the  god  inspires 

Whom  most  its  wildness  teaches. 

"For  I  will  course  through  falling  years, 

And  stars  and  cities  burning ; 
And  I  will  march  through  dying  cheers 

Past  empires  unreturning ; 
Ever  the  world-flame  reappears 

Where  mankind  power  is  earning, 
The  nations'  hopes,  the  people's  tears, 

One  with  the  wild  heart  yearning." 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  ALL-SOULS 
AND  OTHER  POEMS 


MY  FRIEND 
JOHN  ALPHONSE  ARROUET 

I    DEDICATE    THESE    ECHOES 

OF  AFRICAN  DAYS 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  ALL-SOULS 

X  HEARD  in  my  youth  of  a  Kingdom,  lying  far 
at  the  whole  world's  end, 

And  pilgrim-wise  I  clothed  myself  in  my  boyhood 
there  to  wend ; 

Through  the  beautiful,  the  dutiful,  the  holy  high 
way  ran, 

So  was  I  told,  and  it  stretched  through  the  midst 
of  all  the  glory  of  man ; 

And  all  men  spoke  of  the  Kingdom,  when  they 
looked  on  my  face  of  joy, 

And  the  souls  of  the  dead  spun  the  golden  thread 
in  the  heart  of  the  silent  boy. 

So  I  lived  with  beauty  and  duty  long ;  and  I  flour 
ished  in  noble  years ; 

But  I  came  not  nigh  to  the  Kingdom  thereby ;  and 
youth  was  thronged  with  fears ; 

7 


8     THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

For  he  who  seeks  only  the  Kingdom,  goes  lonely, 

however  it  be  at  the  prime ; 
Now,  in  man's  estate,  perplexed,  desolate,  I  looked 

forward  and  back  through  time. 

For  a  curious  thing  had  happened  in  the  lands 

where  eternally 
Blows  the  mighty  breath  of  the  Trades  of  Death 

by  the  old  remembering  sea ; 
Incredible  was  the  leap  and  sweep  of  my  astonished 

sense ; 
Stars  in  their  burning  unveiled  to  me  yearning 

their  spirit-throngs  intense ; 
And  on  glimmering  seas  Tripolitan  borne,  bright 

as  to  Jacob's  eye, 
I  saw,  all  the  night,  forms  whose  substance  was 

light  move  in  the  gold  on  high ; 
And    on    earth    the    fire-fountains    and    snowy 

mountains  that  first  poured  the  power  of  man, 
Blue  blown  spaces  and  sandy  places  where  his 

racing  raptures  ran ; 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  ALL-SOULS  9 

And   whatever    his  soul    has  fashioned    fairest, 

carved  or  painted  or  sung, 
On  my  eyes,  in  my  ears,  on  my  moving  lips,  ever 

divinely  hung. 

Then  was  I  ware  in  my  mystic  self  of  a  discord 

shaping  there, 
And  a  darkness  filmed  my  outward  eye  and  netted 

the  visual  air ; 
Man  in  the  strife  of  his  sorrowing  life  had  such 

power  upon  my  sight ; 
In  the  stench  and  murk  of  Sicilian  mines  I  lost  my 

ways  of  light ; 
For  a  youth  with  a  torch  came  gazing  on  me,  with 

the  nude  archaic  line 
That  I  loved  in  the  marbles  of  Athens,  and  the  fire 

of  his  soul  sank  in  mine ; 
The  woe  of  his  eyes,  the  want  of  his  limbs,  the 

intimate  look  of  his  soul,  - 
Who  shall  measure  the  wave  of  passion  that  from 

spirit  to  spirit  may  roll ! 


10          THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

And,  year  after  year,  grew  poverty  dear;    and 

thereat  I  wondered  then, 
That  my  soul  issued  first  unto  wan  lives  accurst  in 

the  loveliest  lands  of  men. 

Then  I  said  to  my  Spirit  beside  me  tall :   "I  have 

fear  —  this  is  some  charm 
That  the  Impish  Ones  have  wrought  upon  me  to 

do  me  malignant  harm, 
That  for  the  blood-wasted  and  beauty-blasted  I  lay 

bright  worship  by,  - 
Hover  above  it  —  sink  in  it  —  love  it,  -  -  'tis  some 

charm  of  the  Evil  Eye  !" 
But  my  Spirit  beside  gathered  height  in  his  pride. 

Then  a  greater  wonder  arose, 
Whereat  my  delicate  being  aloof  with  the  horror 

thereof  froze ; 
For  I  saw  in  the  den  of  a  prison-pen,  on  a  peak  of 

Argos'  coast, 
Men  whom  whips  compel,  mould  as  in  hell  the 

matrix  of  the  Host ; 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  ALL-SOULS  11 

Murderers,  thieves,  and  every  brood  of  dark  and 

heinous  sin 
Forged  in  that  shed  the  seal  of  God's  Bread,  that 

stamps  Christ's  name  therein. 

Since  then  I  have  taken  man's  hands  in  mine,  and 

nevermore  felt  shame, 
Such  unearthly  light  upon  my  soul-sight  in  that 

flooding  moment  came ; 
And  I  mixed  with  all  races  in  primitive  places, 

wherever  we  might  meet, 
In  the  gangway  of  the  nations,  drunken  tavern, 

desert  street ; 
And  I  saw  men's  souls  unsheltered  and  bare,  as  one 

seeth  eye  to  eye,  — 
This  the  wonder,  this  the  marvel,  that  my  nature, 

all  awry, 
Trembling  ever  turned  most  truly  to  the  lower  and 

the  worse. 
Then  I  said,  abashed,  to  my  Spirit,  who  flashed : 

"This  is  some  terrible  curse 


12  THE   FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

That  Heavenly  Wrath  sends  on  my  path,  that  I 

lose  from  my  soul  the  awe 
Of  all  justice  human,  eternal,  —  I,  who  was  born 

in  the  law !" 

Then  my  Spirit  brightened  as  a  cloud  that  light 
ened  ;  and  I  heard  o'er  confusions  within 

The  Voice  that  comes  over  chaos  when  a  new 
world  shall  begin : 

"I  have  cleansed  thy  eyes  of  beauty;  I  have 
cleansed  thy  heart  of  duty ; 

I  am  soul  that  brightens  from  thee,  seeing  spiritual 
beauty,  — 

Greatens,  doing  spiritual  duty;  incorruptible  is 
spirit,  — 

Nought  to  thee  the  vesture  meaneth,  gleam  or 
gloom  that  men  inherit ; 

Thou  art  waking  in  the  Kingdom,  where  through 
shadows  half -divined 

The  dark  planet  moves  up  slowly  to  the  glory  of 
the  mind ; 


THE   KINGDOM  OF  ALL-SOULS  13 

Past  the  sensual,  past  the  moral,  now  thy  being 
newly  rolls,  — 

Thou  art  living,  thou  art  breathing,  in  the  King 
dom  of  All-Souls  !" 

I  lay  in  the  darkness  hushed  and  o'erawed,  as  the 

sense  of  the  words  sank  in,  — 
One  human  spirit  that  all  men  inherit,  undeprived 

by  their  woe  or  their  sin ; 
No  curst  servile  races,  no  virtue-throned  places  !  — 

and  splendors  o'er  me  ran,  - 
Above  me  immense,  gathering  light  intense,  with 

the  beautiful  form  of  man, 
The  Spirit  stood  bright  in  angelical  might,  and  his 

countenance  beamed  afar, 
Born   with   our   birth   for   dominion   o'er   earth, 

Master  and  Lord  of  our  Star ; 
Heaven  shook  with  the  rays  from  his  arrowy  hand, 

and  the  stars  in  the  zenith  grew  wan,  - 
I  saw,  I  know,  in  that  mighty  glow  the  foregleam 

of  some  dawn ; 


14          THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

And  as  a  gold  pillar  of  sunrise  that  flamed,  and  a 

mounting  glory  showered, 
Majestical  over  my  dark  form  that  soul  of  morning 

towered. 


WHAT  THE  STARS  SANG  IN  THE 
DESERT 

T  WOKE  in  the  desert  rude 

O'erhung  by  the  star-sweet  sky, 
And  ever  the  radiant  multitude 
In  the  silence  drew  more  nigh, 
As  if  on  my  eyes  to  brood, 
And  inward  glory  nurse, 
And  out  of  the  heart  of  the  universe 
Soared  forth  my  singing  cry  : 

"We  are  young  —  our  song  up-springing 

The  crystal  blue  along, 
Creation's  morning  singing,  — 
It  was  but  children-song, 
Melodiously  ringing, 
Mysteriously  forewarning 
The  realm  beyond  the  morning 
We  infinitely  throng. 

15 


16          THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

"We  sit  in  our  burning  spheres 

inimitably  hung ; 

By  the  speed  of  light  we  measure  the  years 
On  purple  ether  flung ; 

Without  a  shadow  time  appears, 
A  calendar  of  echoing  lights 
That  flame  and  dusk  from  depths  and  heights, 
And  all  our  years  are  young. 

"We  are  borne  through  darkness  streaming 

Wherein  our  glory  glides ; 
We  dower  the  deep  with  the  beaming 
Where  prophecy  resides ; 

Forevermore  we  are  dreaming, 
Still  in  the  springtime  blossom 
Of  thoughts  that  light  our  bosom 
And  beat  our  glowing  sides. 

"Wide  the  abyss ;  we  span  it, 

Who  showering  a  bright  spark  came, 
And  forever  we  smite  it  and  fan  it 


WHAT  THE  STARS  SANG  IN  THE  DESERT     17 

Forth  from  the  forging  flame,  — 

Life,  flower  of  the  planet, 

Flower  of  the  fire,  supernal, 
Burning,  blooming,  eternal,  — 
A  million  names  are  his  name. 

"We  tremble;  we  thrill  heaven's  ocean 

With  the  myriad-glittering  quest ; 
Aspiration  and  devotion 

From  the  prime  were  our  brooding  nest ; 
And  youth,  -  -  'tis  breathed  emotion, 
A  seeing  and  a  hearkening, 
A  gleaming  and  a  darkening, 
And  a  whispering  to  the  breast. 

"Then  with  bright  hands  uplifted 
We  strike  the  thousand  lyres ; 
The  music,  on  dreams  drifted, 
Pours  all  the  world's  desires ; 
And  ever  the  song  is  sifted 
From  the  heart  of  youth  forecasting 


18          THE  FLIGHT  AND   OTHER  POEMS 

The  unknown  everlasting 
That  bathes  us  and  inspires. 

"We  gaze  on  the  far  flood  flowing 

Unimaginably  free, 
Multitudinous,  mystical,  glowing, 
But  all  we  do  not  see ; 

And  a  rapture  is  all  our  knowing, 
That  on  fiery  nerves  comes  stealing, 
An  intimate  revealing 
That  all  is  yet  to  be. 

"When  sheathed  and  glacial  o'er  us 

Arcturus  courses  cold, 
And  dry  and  dark  before  us 
Aldebaran  is  rolled, 

Far-clustering  orbs  in  chorus 
Shall  light  the  pealing  sky, 
And  throne  to  throne  reply, 
'The  heavens  grow  not  old." 

Round  the  desert  wild  and  eerie 
The  starry  echoes  clung ; 


WHAT  THE  STARS  SANG  IN  THE  DESERT     19 

In  a  region  weird  and  dreary 
The  golden  song  was  sung ; 
Over  lands  forlorn  and  weary, 
Where  the  drifting  white  sand  only 
Drifts  anew  the  sand-wreath  lonely, 
The  radiant  silence  hung. 


THE  RIDING 

SAID  to  my  young  soul  riding, 

"Thou  shalt  not  await  the  hour, 
Though  no  strength  in  thy  arm  be  abiding, 

Though  thy  virtue  hath  put  forth  no  flower, 
And  life  be  all  thy  having, 

And  only  hope  thy  dower ; 
Courage  will  fly  from  thy  laggard  breast 
Till  thy  sword  be  out,  and  thy  lance  in  rest, 
And  ever  the  deed  that  man  does  best 

Is  a  deed  beyond  his  power." 

I  ride  in  lands  of  danger 

Where  wakes  unknown  alarm ; 
But  the  strength  that  I  find  there  is  stranger 

Than  is  any  magical  charm ; 
From  the  grave  is  this  befriending, 

And  it  hides  in  my  life-blood  warm ; 
20 


THE  RIDING  21 

From  hearts  that  are  dust  is  the  nameless  flow, 
The  strengthless  dead  in  my  muscles  glow, 
And  I  muse,  as  I  lean  o'er  the  monstrous  foe, — 
"It  was  my  father's  arm." 

Through  wide  wastes  I  ride  finding 

Strange  sights  by  lonesome  strands ; 
And  wounds  that  none  knows  I  stoop  binding 

Through  the  dumb  and  woeful  lands ; 
Out  of  my  body  goes  healing 

From  the  touch  of  my  wandering  hands ; 
But  my  hands  that  I  feel  go  confessing 
Strange  wrongs,  and  strange  sacrifice  blessing, 
The  dark  children  of  sorrow  caressing,  - 

They  are  not  my  mortal  hands. 

I  set  the  reed  to  my  lips, 

Where  my  soul  and  my  breath  are  wed ; 
On  far  heights  the  song  from  me  slips, 

Down  the  slopes  of  the  world  it  has  sped  ; 
Out  of  my  heart  that  goes  mourning 

The  beautiful  life  has  fled ; 


THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

But  my  song  that  I  hear  go  singing, 
Half  over  the  wide  world  winging, 
To  the  hearts  and  lips  of  men  clinging, 
Is  the  breath  of  poets  dead. 

Through  dark  night  I  go  dreaming 

Where  unknown  oceans  roll ; 
My  thoughts,  in  flights,  sweep  gleaming 

With  the  spirit's  aureole ; 
I  know  not  where  they  have  vanished 

That  from  my  bosom  stole ; 
But  my  dream  that  goes  unreturning, 
Fulfilled  of  the  millions  yearning, 
And  wraps  the  whole  world  burning, 

Is  the  flaming  of  man's  soul. 

Through  endless  barren  spaces, 
Apart  from  all  men  thrown, 

I  ride  through  lonely  places 
In  ways  to  no  man  known, 

With  none  before  nor  after, 
But  I  do  not  ride  alone ; 


THE  RIDING  23 

Though  there  none  names  me  brother, 
I  am  ware,  in  my  heart,  of  some  other, 
And  my  deeds  are  the  deeds  of  another, 
And  none  of  my  deeds  is  my  own. 

I  never  saw  them  shining 

In  that  phantasmal  air ; 
But  I  feel  dark  hearts  inclining 

Round  mine,  in  hostings  fair ; 
Though  I  ride  sole  and  lonely, 

They  are  thousands  everywhere ; 
In  the  scarlet  desert  sterile, 
By  the  beaches'  stormy  beryl, 
They  stand  about  my  peril, 

And  I  can  feel  them  there. 

They  lean  from  old  bronzed  races 

Who  plied  red  spears  at  morn ; 
They  troop  from  nameless  places, 

The  lords  of  shame  and  scorn ; 
And  the  souls  of  the  uncreated 

Flock  to  the  way  forlorn ; 


THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

I  feel  them  grope  and  hover, 
Where  dark  night  clouds  me  over, 
On  the  route  of  the  lonely  lover 
Of  the  dead  and  the  unborn. 

Out  of  the  unapparent 

Doth  the  breath  of  all  being  blow ; 
From  a  million  natures  errant 

Doth  the  stream  of  man's  blood  flow ; 
The  nerves  are  the  burning  current 

Of  the  universe  aglow ; 
Of  the  infinite  was  my  making, 
And  I  ride  of  the  infinite  taking 
The  strength  that  knows  no  breaking, 

Wheresoever  I  go. 


IN  THE  OASIS 

TT  was  a  paradise  of  trees 

In  the  blue  vague  of  sand  and  sea ; 
An  isle  of  ocean  histories, 

An  unknown  isle,  it  seemed  to  me ; 
A  precinct  of  the  ancient  grove, 

Sacred  to  fruit  and  corn  and  peace ; 
Old  as  the  spring  of  life  and  love, 

It  seemed  a  bank  where  time  might  cease, 

It  was  a  tract  of  sky  and  palm 

Where  yellowing  waters  ooze  and  run, 
And  dark  folk  dwell  amid  the  calm 

Of  earthen  shadows  red  and  dun ; 
They  brought  me  govrds  of  liquor  pale 

The  cut  palm  yields  at  break  of  dawn ; 
In  hearts  so  simple  could  not  fail 

The  kindness  out  of  nature  drawn. 

25 


26          THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

So  voyagers  whose  victorious  keel 

First  swam  the  lone  Pacific  floods, 
Felt  morn's  mysterious  lights  unseal 

The  tribes  of  ocean  solitudes ; 
And  found  the  bloom  without  decay, 

The  life  through  fading  centuries  sown, 
That  flower-like  lifts  a  little  way 

Its  head  to  heavens  that  soar  unknown. 

There  Carthage  led  her  navied  host, 

Passing  the  desert  solemn ; 
And  nigher  rose  on  that  sparse  coast 

Rome's  eagle-bearing  column ; 
The  distant  centuries  lapsed  away, 

But  nothing  here  knew  time  had  flown ; 
The  small  dark  race  that  moulds  the  clay 

Outlasts  the  race  that  built  in  stone. 

You  wonder  how  I  understand 

Man's  soul  in  dusky  faces, 
And,  though  a  stranger  in  the  land, 

A  friend  roved  that  oasis ; 


IN  THE  OASIS  27 

They  strove  to  please  with  gentle  art, 

Soft  smiles  and  silent  duty ; 
Unconsciously  they  soothed  my  heart 

With  touches  of  wild  beauty. 

I  twined  my  soft  gray  hat  with  bloom 

They  brought  me  in  the  desert  bowers, 
And  wound  along  the  palm's  white  plume 

The  dark-leaved  red  pomegranate  flowers; 
I  wandered,  thoughtless  of  the  lure, 

Beside  the  burning  sapphire  sea ; 
The  bronzed  boys  laughed,  and  sat  demure, 

And  every  eye  shot  love  at  me. 

Ah,  never  moves  man  far  apart 

From  kinship  and  from  duty, 
And  straightest  unto  every  heart 

Winds  the  old  path  of  beauty ; 
They  showed  me  all  the  secret  isle, 

They  brought  me  all  their  meagre  store, 
And  many  a  child's  caressing  smile 

Followed  me  down  to  the  sea-shore. 


28          THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

It  was  a  paradise  of  trees 

In  the  blue  vague  of  sand  and  sea ; 
An  isle  of  antique  histories, 

A  long-lost  isle,  it  seemed  to  me ; 
They  rowed  my  boat,  I  sailed  away 

To  lands  beyond  the  western  star ; 
Like  something  lost  my  natal  day, 

Within  my  mind  these  memories  are. 


THE  WINGED  EROS  OF  TUNIS 

RECOVERED  FROM  THE  SEA  NEAR  MAHDIA 
IN   1904 

T3EAUTIFUL  bronze  boy,  wing 

Of  the  golden  age  in  flower 
With  the  bloom  of  an  Asian  spring, — 

Sheathless  beauty  and  power ; 
Life  in  its  delicate  fuse 

Of  first  thought,  first  desire,  — 
Of  Meleager's  muse 

The  radiance  and  the  fire  ! 

Thy  loveliness  disdained 

A  rude  barbarian  fate ; 
No  Christian  touch  profaned 

Thy  form  inviolate ; 
But  plunged  in  ocean-peace 

The  blue  waves  did  thee  cover ; 
A  score  of  centuries 

Thou  hadst  the  sea  for  lover. 

29 


30    THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Late  thence  emerging  now 

Into  the  gray  light  wan, 
Thou  bringest  the  youthful  brow 

The  world's  dawn  rests  upon. 
Strange  is  the  sight,  forlorn 

The  heart  with  the  sense  thereof, 
Beautiful  boy,  reborn 

Of  the  waves  for  our  worship  and  love. 


THE  REVENANT 

TT  was  at  Tunis,  in  the  shop 

I  told  you  of,  where  women  stop, 
And  falls  the  perfume,  drop  by  drop, 

That  first  he  came, 
Who  in  my  own  flesh  clotheth  him, 
And  drugs  my  soul  with  memories  dim, 
And  fills  my  body  to  the  brim, 

A  perfumed  flame. 

I  know  new  meanings  in  the  rose, 
Old  channels  in  my  sense  unclose, 
Along  my  nerves  the  music  goes 

Of  ancient  time ; 

And  I  am  changed  to  what  has  been,  — 
Silk-robed,  and  turbaned  with  the  green, 
I  try  the  thin  edge  damascene 

Of  secret  crime. 

31 


32          THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

To  leaner  sheaths  my  spirit  shrinks, 
And  long-forbidden  pleasures  drinks ; 
The  mindless  life  that  never  thinks, 

Crumbles  my  soul ; 
And  o'er  the  ruined  yellow  wall 
Of  what  I  was,  there  groweth  tall 
A  flower,  whose  incense  like  a  pall 

Doth  round  me  roll. 

I  hear  a  padding  on  the  stones, 
There  comes  a  terror  in  my  bones, 
A  throttling  stills  my  crumpled  moans 

And  little  cries ; 
And  who  is  he  sits  in  my  place, 
A  lither  soul,  a  softer  grace, 
A  lore  of  ages  in  his  face, 

And  world-wise  eyes  ? 

The  Revenant !  in  every  clime 
He  uses  me  to  be  the  mime 
Of  weird  things  acted  in  the  time 
Of  long-ago ; 


THE  REVENANT 

What  mysteries  of  heart  and  brain, 
What  forms  of  beauty,  forms  of  pain, 
The  sun  shall  never  see  again, 
Revive  and  glow ! 

A  thousand  years  has  he  been  clay 
Who  from  me  takes  the  soul  away, 
And  in  my  body  makes  his  play, 

Do  what  I  can ; 

Strange  visitant,  in  myriad  shapes, 
Who  in  myself  my  being  apes  ! 
Ah,  nowhere  now  my  soul  escapes 

The  Ghost  of  Man. 


THE  BLUE  STAR 

TTTHAT  I  remember  of  the  soul 

That  out  of  darkness  on  me  stole, 
Is  just  a  blue  star,  like  a  mole, 

Upon  her  brow,  - 

And  then,  her  arms  and  ankle-rings ; 
A  nameless  mystery  of  things 
Inscrutable  about  her  clings, 

And  charms  me  now. 

A  mountain  woman,  Djelfa's  child, 
Whose  foot  had  never  left  the  wild, 
She  draws  from  nature  undefiled 

Her  swaying  grace ; 
Her  body  sparkles  like  a  gem 
Beneath  the  gold  coins'  clinking  hem,  — 
Her  throat  an  oleander  stem, 

A  flower  her  face. 

34 


THE  BLUE  STAR  35 

Out  of  the  solitude  she  came 
Into  the  waste  without  a  name ; 
Dancing,  she  seems  the  wind-blown  flame 

Of  desert  fires ; 

Her  beauty  burns  beneath  the  stars, 
Her  journeys  no  horizon  bars, 
In  lands  where  nought  the  freedom  mars 

Of  man's  desires. 

With  lids  that  doze  in  panther  sleep 
Bedouins  upon  her  motions  keep 
Their  couchant  eyes  whose  forward  leap 

She  holds  at  gaze ; 
Of  love  that  dwells  beneath  the  tent 
She  makes  her  body  eloquent ; 
At  every  step  a  veil  is  rent,  — 

The  passions  blaze. 

I  hear  the  tinkle  of  her  feet 
In  world- wide  rhythms  darkly  sweet, 
That,  drop  by  drop,  my  veins  repeat, 
Like  violin-strings ; 


THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

To  the  mute  cadence  of  her  hips 
A  growth  of  ages  from  me  slips,  — 
In  morning  worlds  my  body  dips 
Primeval  springs. 

It  seems  a  life  before  the  Flood 

Is  hers,  —  and  hers  the  brotherhood 

Of  all  that  swam  or  flew  or  stood 

In  old  marsh-lands ; 
A  hundred  centuries  have  rolled 
To  her  the  desert's  tribute  gold ; 
Dancing,  she  saw  the  world  grow  old 

In  buried  sands. 

And  then,  —  how  strange  my  fancies  are  ! 
I  saw  the  dance,  retreating  far, 
Diminish  into  that  blue  star, 

Just  like  a  mole ; 
It  came  upon  me  in  the  gloom 
And  grave  dusk  of  the  sombre  room, 
Soft  as  a  disk  of  moth-wing  bloom,  - 

The  moth,  her  soul. 


THE  BLUE  STAR  37 

The  dance  was  done.     In  gentle  mood 
A  slender  girl  before  me  stood, 
The  slip  of  desert  womanhood 

My  memory  keeps ; 
But  most  the  vision  to  me  brings 
The  mystery  of  human  things,  — 
How  spirit  unto  spirit  springs 

Across  what  deeps. 

Ah,  had  we  power  to  enter  in 
To  Nature's  innocence  of  sin, 
What  revelations  might  begin 

For  you  and  me  ! 

Oft  through  the  wide  world  as  I  go, 
I  mind  me  where  the  date-palms  grow, 
And  on  a  brow,  serene  and  low, 

The  blue  star  see. 


THE  LEOPARD 

TN  lands  where  only  jackals  call, 
And  only  vulture-shadows  fall 
Day-long,  beside  a  city  wall, 

Did  this  betide. 

'Twas  night ;  the  sands  were  camel-strewn ; 
Around  me  was  a  world  unknown ; 
Far  off  the  drifted  desert  blown, 

A  bugle  died. 

I  felt  dim  shapes  of  thought  arise, 
Which  turn  to  stone  the  human  eyes 
That  long  have  gazed  on  desert  skies, 

Far  from  mankind ; 

Grim  mammoth  things  that  come  unbid, 
In  the  great  pit  of  being  hid, 
Kin  to  the  Sphinx  and  Pyramid, 

Unhinged  my  mind. 

38 


THE  LEOPARD  39 

Grotesque  enchantments  that  begin 
In  motions  of  the  twisted  drin, 
Wound  in  my  senses,  and  within 

My  spirit  stirred ; 
The  desert  magic  o'er  me  drew 
Cast  skins  of  nature  she  outgrew, 
Worn  in  the  time  she  man  foreknew 

In  beast  and  bird. 

I  seemed  a  creature  strange,  apart, 

Crept  from  a  crevice  of  the  heart 

Of  things,  —  to  come  and  to  depart,  — 

A  foot,  a  face ; 

There,  peering  in  my  hour  of  light 
Upon  the  centuries'  ageless  flight, 
I  held  the  whole  world  on  my  sight,  — 

All  time,  all  space. 

One  moment,  robed  in  starry  air, 
As  'twere  a  spangled  leopard  there, 
I  crouched,  —  and  slipped  back  unaware 
Into  all  things ; 


40  THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

As  when  the  phoenix  melts  in  flame, 
The  soul  of  matter  went  and  came, 
And  in  one  throb  great  nature's  frame 
Folded  its  wings. 

How  dark  it  was,  when  I  came  back 

Along  the  spiritual  track 

To  my  own  world  !  how  mortal  black 

The  city  wall, — 

The  forms  of  men  like  shadows  seen, 
Sleeping  the  camel-heaps  between, 
Unconscious  of  the  spectral  scene, 

The  jackal's  call ! 


THE  WHITE  BONE 

"\T7HEN  first  I  saw  the  city  lone 

Lift  on  the  blue  its  burial-stone, 
"  Look,"  said  I,  "  where  the  desert's  bone 

Gleams  in  its  mouth  ! " 
The  bleached  light  across  the  plain 
Stamped  the  grim  image  on  my  brain, 
Of  bones  that  trail  the  camel-train 
In  burning  drougth. 

Alone  that  skeleton  city  stands, 
By  none  remembered,  in  lost  lands, 
And  miles  about  are  blown  the  sands 

Like  a  red  sea ; 

And  in  the  night  the  stars  that  lean 
Over  that  spectreless  pale  scene, 
Shudder  at  what  there  once  had  been 

Man's  memory. 

41 


42  THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

'Tis  strange  how  such  a  fancied  thing 
Will  shape  and  stain  our  visioning. 
I  saw  the  beast's  fawn-stripes  en-ring 

The  preying  mouth ; 
And  when  I  lay  at  night  alone, 
I  seemed  myself  that  ruin  shown, 
Gnawed  by  the  sands,  like  a  white  bone 

In  the  red  south. 

The  wrecks  of  eld  in  me  were  met ; 
A  million  suns  had  on  me  set ; 
The  wild  sand  heaped  the  parapet, 

Ribbed  in  long  bars ; 
There  sat  my  soul,  with  time  o'er-grown, 
And  saw  on  heaven's  wide  prospect  thrown, 
The  orb  that  bears  the  death-white  bone 

Among  the  stars. 

What  longings  shook  me  for  my  youth 
Still  unimpregnated  with  truth, 
Unpacked,  brain-deep,  with  mental  ruth, 
From  old  time  free ! 


THE  WHITE  BONE 

To  have  once  more  my  soul  my  own, 
That  was  of  God  the  monotone, 
When  I  was  young,  ere  I  was  grown 
Man's  soul  to  be ! 

Then  the  Wraith  spoke  within  me :  "Who 
Shall  tell  my  age  ?  arisen  anew, 
Out  of  antiquity  I  drew 

A  subtle  thing ; 

Borne  flaming  from  my  backward  wake, 
New  exhalations  from  me  flake, 
And  the  past  glories  upward  take 

The  Eternal  Wing." 

But  often  when  the  Wraith  is  dumb, 

That  Incubus  will  on  me  come, 

And  hoarse  I  hear  my  heart-beats  drum, 

Awake,  alone; 

And  aye  it  is  a  fearsome  sight, 
When  flashes  on  me  in  the  night 
The  image  of  the  beast  bedight 

With  the  white  bone. 


B 


THE  WAY 

Y  wisdom  that  cometh  at  night  and  by  stealth 

The  soul  of  a  man  is  made  free ; 
It  is  not  in  the  giving  of  learning  or  wealth,  — 

The  divine  gift,  liberty ; 
But  these  things  shall  bind  on  him  chain  on  chain 

Of  inward  slavery ; 

He  shall  lay  earthly  things  on  an  earthen  altar, 
And  go  out  from  all  gods,  nor  turn  back,  nor 

falter, 
And  he  shall  follow  me. 

He  shall  do  the  deeds  of  the  great  life-will 

That  is  manifest  under  the  sun ; 
He  shall  not  repine  though  he  doeth  ill 

It  repenteth  him  to  have  done ; 
Behold,  he  is  brother  to  thousands 

Who  before  was  brother  to  none ; 

44 


THE  WAY  45 

And  because  all  his  deeds  are  done  in  the  spirit, 
Great  is  the  love  that  he  shall  inherit, 
And  all  other  gain  shall  he  shun. 

He  shall  not  take  note  what  another  hath, 

Or  what  to  himself  is  due ; 
He  shall  not  give  heed  what  another  saith, 

Or  to  doctrines  false  or  true ; 
He  shall  lead  the  life,  he  shall  follow  the  path, 

And  all  things  shall  come  to  him  new ; 
And  he  shall  pluck  from  the  life  in  his  bosom, 
Flower  by  flower,  the  eternal  blossom, 

Rose,  rosemary,  and  rue. 

He  shall  not  make  narrow  his  heart  with  truth, 

Nor  wall  for  another  the  way ; 
He  shall  not  give  a  bond  in  the  days  of  his  youth 

Against  his  manhood's  day ; 
And  he  shall  go  out  from  all  aloof, 

And  alone  in  his  heart  shall  he  pray ; 
And  to  him  in  the  fulness  of  time  shall  be  given 


46  THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

To  have  no  master  on  earth  or  in  heaven, 
But  he  shall  be  master  alway. 

He  shall  do  the  will  that  is  stronger  than  his ; 

He  shall  act  in  the  infinite ; 
He  shall  not  draw  back  for  sorrow  or  bliss,  — 

He  shall  bear  the  embrace  of  it ; 
So  shall  he  create  all  things  anew,  — 

Not  parcel  the  old,  bit  by  bit ; 
And  to  him  shall  be  known  that  the  glory  of  living 
Is  to  love,  be  it  receiving  or  giving, 

And  his  heart  with  the  whole  shall  knit. 

In  the  dark  of  the  dawn  we  are  waifs  blown  forth, 

Above  great  oceans  to  roll, 
Of  powers  that  never  measured  the  worth 

Of  bird,  or  beast,  or  soul ; 
And  bridals  of  contingency 

The  fires  of  our  youth  control ; 
But  whether  we  soar,  or  swoop,  or  hover, 
Only  the  lover  all  the  world  over 

Hath  the  freedom  of  the  whole. 


THE  WAY  47 

For  I  wandered  forth  without  a  mate 

My  bread  with  the  poor  to  find ; 
The  learned,  the  rich,  the  good,  the  great, 

I  left  in  their  niches  behind ; 
I  had  only  a  lover's  heart  in  my  breast, 

And  a  world's  dead  lies  in  my  mind ; 
In  the  life  of  the  poor  I  escaped  my  prison, 
Like  a  soul  from  the  grave  had  my  free  soul  arisen 

To  live  in  the  unconfined. 


BEYOND   GOOD  AND  EVIL 

T  RODE  in  the  dark  of  the  spirit 
A  marvellous,  marvellous  way ; 
The  faiths  that  the  races  inherit 

Behind  in  the  sunset  lay ; 
Dome,  mosque,  and  temple  huddled 

Bade  farewell  to  the  day ; 
But  I  rode  into  the  leagues  of  the  dark, 
There  was  no  light  but  my  hoof-beats'  spark 

That  sprang  from  that  marvellous  way. 

Behind  were  the  coffined  gods  in  their  shroud 

Of  jungle,  desert,  and  mound, 
The  mighty  man-bones  and  the  mummies  proud 

Stark  in  their  caves  underground ; 
And  the  planet  that  sepulchres  god  and  man, 

Bore  me  in  the  cone  of  its  dark  profound 
To  the  ultimate  clash  in  stellar  space, 
The  way  of  the  dead,  god-making  race 

Whirled  with  its  dead  gods  round. 

48 


BEYOND  GOOD  AND  EVIL  49 

And  my  heart,  as  the  night  grew  colder, 

Drew  near  to  the  heart  of  my  steed ; 
I  had  pillowed  my  head  on  his  shoulder 

Long  years  in  the  sand  and  the  reed ; 
Long  ago  he  was  foaled  of  the  Muses, 

And  sired  of  the  heroes'  deed ; 
And  he  came  unto  me  by  the  fountain 
Of  the  old  Hellenic  mountain, 

And  of  heaven  is  his  breed. 

So  my  heart  grew  near  to  the  heart  of  my  horse, 

Who  was  wiser,  far  wiser  than  I ; 
Yet  wherever  I  leaned  in  my  spirit's  course, 

He  swayed,  and  questioned  not  why ; 
And  this  was  because  he  was  born  above, 

A  child  of  the  beautiful  sky ; 
And  now  we  were  come  to  the  kingdoms  black, 
And  nevermore  should  we  journey  back 

To  the  land  where  dead  men  lie. 

Now  whether  or  not  in  that  grewsome  air 
My  soul  was  seized  by  the  dread  cafard, 


50          THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Terror  of  deserts,  I  cannot  swear ; 

But  I  rode  straight  into  an  orbed  star, 
Where  only  reigned  the  spirit  of  good, 

And  only  the  holy  and  virtuous  are ; 
And  my  horse's  eyes  sent  forth  sun-rays, 
And  in  my  own  was  a  noon-tide  gaze 

That  mastered  that  splendid  star. 

The  madness  of  deserts,  if  so  it  be, 

Burned  in  my  brain,  and  I  saw 
The  multitudinous  progeny 

Of  the  talon  and  the  claw ; 
And  Mammon  in  all  their  palaces 

Gaped  with  a  golden  maw ; 
And  we  rode  far  off  from  the  glittering  roofs, 
And  the  horse,  as  he  passed,  with  his  heaven- 
shod  hoofs 

Broke  the  tables  of  their  law. 

And  we  came  to  a  city  adjacent  thereby, 
For  the  twain  to  one  Empire  belong ; 


BEYOND   GOOD  AND  EVIL  51 

Black  over  it  hung  a  terrible  cry 

From  eternal  years  of  wrong ; 
And  the  land,  it  was  full  of  gallows  and  prisons 

And  the  horrible  deeds  of  the  strong ; 
And  we  fled ;  but  the  flash  of  my  horse's  feet 
Broke  open  the  jails  in  every  street, 

And  lightning  burned  there  long. 

We  were  past  the  good  and  the  evil, 

In  the  spirit's  uttermost  dark ; 
He  is  neither  god  nor  devil 

For  whom  my  heart-beats  hark ; 
And  I  leaned  my  cheek  to  my  horse's  neck, 

And  I  sang  to  his  ear  in  the  dark : 
"There  is  neither  good  nor  evil, 
There  is  neither  god  nor  devil, 

And  our  way  lies  on  through  the  dark. 

"Once  I  saw  by  a  throne 

A  burning  angel  who  cried,  — 
'I  will  suffer  all  woes  that  man's  spirit  has  known/ 

And  he  plunged  in  the  turbid  tide ; 


52  THE   FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

And  wherever  he  sank  with  that  heart  of  love, 

He  rose  up  purified ; 

Glowed  brighter  his  limbs  and  his  beautiful  face, 
And  he  went  not  back  to  the  heavenly  place, 

And  he  drew  all  men  to  his  side. 

"I  have  never  heard  it  or  learnt  it, 

It  is  in  me  like  my  soul, 
And  the  sights  of  this  world  have  burnt  it 

In  me  to  a  living  coal,  - 
The  soul  of  man  is  a  masterless  thing 

And  bides  not  another's  control ; 
And  gypsy-broods  of  bandit-loins 
Shall  teach  what  the  lawless  life  enjoins 

Upon  the  lawless  soul. 

"When  we  dare  neither  to  loose  nor  to  bind, 

However  to  us  things  appear ; 
When  whatsoever  in  others  we  find, 

We  shall  feel  neither  shame  nor  fear ; 
When  we  learn  that  to  love  the  lowliest 

We  must  first  salute  him  our  peer ; 


BEYOND  GOOD  AND  EVIL  53 

When  the  basest  is  most  our  brother, 
And   we  neither  look   down   on   nor   up   to   an 
other,  - 
The  end  of  our  ride  shall  be  near." 

A  wind  arose  from  the  dreadful  past, 

And  the  sand  smoked  on  the  knoll ; 
I  saw,  blown  by  the  bolts  of  the  blast, 

The  shreds  of  the  Judgment  scroll ; 
I  heard  the  death-spasms  of  Justice  old 

Under  the  seas  and  the  mountains  roll ; 
Then  the  horse  who  had  borne  me  through  all 

disaster, 
Turned  blazing  eyes  upon  me  his  master, 

For  the  thoughts  I  sing  are  his  soul. 

And  I  sang  in  his  ear,  —  "  'Tis  the  old  world 
dying 

Whose  death-cries  through  heaven  are  rolled ; 
Through  the  souls  of  men  a  flame  is  flying 

That  shall  a  new  firmament  mould ; 


54          THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

And  the  uncreated  light  in  man's  spirit 
Shall  sun,  moon,  and  stars  unfold;" 
Then  the  horse  snuffed  the  dark  with  his  nostrils 

bright, 
And  he  strode,  and  he  stretched,  and  he  neighed 

to  the  light 
That  shall  beam  at  the  word  to  be  told. 


COMRADES 

TTTHERE  are  the  friends  that  I  knew  in  my 

Maying, 
In  the  days  of  my  youth,  in  the  first  of  .my 

roaming  ? 
We  were  dear;   we  were  leal;   oh,  far  we  went 

straying ; 

Now  never  a  heart  to  my  heart  comes  hom 
ing  !— 
Where  is  he  now,  the  dark  boy  slender 

WTio  taught  me  bare-back,  stirrup  and  reins  ? 
I  loved  him ;  he  loved  me ;  my  beautiful,  tender 
Tamer  of  horses  on  grass-grown  plains. 

Where  is  he  now  whose  eyes  swam  brighter, 
Softer  than  love,  in  his  turbulent  charms ; 

Who  taught  me  to  strike,  and  to  fall,  dear  fighter, 
And  gathered  me  up  in  his  boyhood  arms ; 

55 


56  THE  FLIGHT  AND   OTHER  POEMS 

Taught  me  the  rifle,  and  with  me  went  riding, 
Suppled  my  limbs  to  the  horseman's  war ; 

Where  is  he  now,  for  whom  my  heart's  biding, 
Biding,  biding  —  but  he  rides  far  ? 

0  love  that  passes  the  love  of  woman  ! 
Who  that  hath  felt  it  shall  ever  forget, 

When  the  breath  of  life  with  a  throb  turns  human, 
And  a  lad's  heart  is  to  a  lad's  heart  set  ? 

Ever,  forever,  lover  and  rover, 

They  shall  cling,  nor  each  from  other  shall  part 

Till  the  reign  of  the  stars  in  the  heavens  be  over, 
And  life  is  dust  in  each  faithful  heart ! 

They  are  dead,  the  American  grasses  under ; 

There  is  no  one  now  who  presses  my  side ; 
By  the  African  chotts  I  am  riding  asunder, 

And  with  great  joy  ride  I  the  last  great  ride. 

1  am  fey ;  I  am  fain  of  sudden  dying ; 
Thousands  of  miles  there  is  no  one  near ; 

And  my  heart  —  all  the  night  it  is  crying,  crying 
In  the  bosoms  of  dead  lads  darling-dear. 


COMRADES  57 

Hearts  of  my  music  —  them  dark  earth  covers ; 

Comrades  to  die,  and  to  die  for,  were  they ; 
In  the  width  of  the  world  there  were  no  such 

rovers  — 

Back  to  back,  breast  to  breast,  it  was  ours  to  stay ; 
And  the  highest  on  earth  was  the  vow  that  we 

cherished, 
To  spur  forth  from  the  crowd  and  come  back 

never  more, 

And  to  ride  in  the  track  of  great  souls  perished 
Till  the  nests  of  the  lark  shall  roof  us  o'er. 

Yet  lingers  a  horseman  on  Altai  highlands, 

Who  hath  joy  of  me,  riding  the  Tartar  glissade ; 
And  one,  far  faring  o'er  orient  islands 

Whose  blood  yet  glints  with  my  blade's  accolade ; 
North,  west,  east,  I  fling  you  my  last  hallooing, 

Last  love  to  the  breasts  where  my  own  has  bled ; 
Through  the  reach  of  the  desert  my  soul  leaps 
pursuing 

My  star  where  it  rises  a  Star  of  the  Dead. 


THE  POET  IN  ITALY  AND  OTHER 
POEMS 


2T0  tfje 

SALVATORE  DI  GIACOMO 

I  DEDICATE  THIS  TRIBUTE  TO  THE  BEAUTY 

AND  THE  HEART  OF  ITALY. 


THE  POET  IN  ITALY 

IMITATED  AFTER  RENATO  RINALDl's  "iL  GIROVAGO" 

A     RAGGED,  sweet  little  fellow 

Slips  —  Heaven  knows  whence  —  into  view, 
Jestingly  greets  me  his  mellow, 

"What's  new?" 

—  "What's  new  ?     Not  a  thing.     Tranquil 
I  leave  things  as  they  are, 

And  the  words  and  the  song  gush  upward 
The  same  as  ever  they  were." 

There's  a  door  where  I  make  a  great  clatter  — 

Hands  in  pockets  —  kick  fair ; 
Cries  a  voice  —  I  know  well  its  chatter  — 
"Who's  there?" 

—  "Same  as  ever  to-day  'tis  — 

Drinks  the  fountain,  and  goes  on  his  way  — 
Up  the  peaks,  o'er  the  rise,  he  is  going  - 
Every  night  he  turns  into  day." 

61 


62  THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

On  the  highroad  a  plough-bound  peasant 

Is  fixing  his  ox-gear  anew, 
And,  passing,  he  hails  me  pleasant, 
"Whereto?" 

—  "Where  to  ?     I  don't  know.     The  road  only 
So  long  is  the  guide  of  my  feet. 

I  go.     I  don't  ask.     My  country  ? 

'Tis  the  world  -  -  'tis  tranquil  and  sweet." 

Through  wayside  and  town  I  sing  trolling, 

And  some  pitiful  heart  among  men 
Asks  low,  as  the  song  goes  rolling, 
"Till  when?" 

—  "Till  when  ?    Always.     Take  heart. 
Men's  doors  still  open  to  me. 

Always.     Till  on  my  worn  pathway 
Death  comes,  with  a  grin,  to  see." 


CALOGERO 

"T3UON  riposo,  signorino," 

Half  he  turned  his  face  to  go, 
Half  I  held  him  lingeringly, 

"Ma  dove  va  Calogero  ?" 
He  looked  at  his  feet,  he  looked  at  the  moon, 

And  he  answered  gallantly, 
"NelP  albergo  della  lima 

There  is  always  room  for  me. 

"Ma  non  sgomentarvi,  signor," 

Quickly  he  stroked  my  arm ; 
"All  my  life  is  da  fuori,  — 

There  was  never  any  harm. 
II  Domineddio,  la," 

He  nodded  up  to  the  deep, 
"Since  I  was  born  has  made  my  bed 

Where  all  at  last  must  sleep. 


64  THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

"Cosi  va  bene.     All  the  dead 

Lie  out  beneath  the  sky ; 
'Tis  best  to  be  acquainted,  sure, 

Where  one  so  long  must  lie ; 
And  when  'tis  still,  some  nights  it  seems 

That  it  all  belongs  to  me 
From  the  silver  tips  of  the  olive-tops 

To  the  silver  edge  of  the  sea. 

"Joking?  oh,  no,  signore, 

I  was  only  thinking  in  fun, 
Modo  Siciliano,  - 

Always  a  little  sun. 
E  molto  curioso 

How  many  thoughts  there  are,  — 
Sempre  di  lei,  all  the  nights, 

Lontano,  like  a  star." 

Siciliano  vero,  — 

Sunshine,  and  night  beneath  ! 
Bravo  ragazzo  mio, 

Who  laughed  with  chattering  teeth  ! 


CALOGERO 

"Gia  siamo  insieme," 

And  close  within  my  coat, 

As  I  drew  its  folds  about  him, 
I  felt  his  throbbing  throat. 

"Si,  signor,  I'm  not  happy 

Unless  about  me  be 
Great  spaces,  large  enough  to  hold 

The  mountains  and  the  sea. 
Nell'  albergo  della  luna, 

Signor,  there  is  room  for  two ; 
Mio  caro  signorino, 

There  would  be  room  for  you. 

"What  is  there  in  a  grand  hotel 

With  none  to  know  or  love  you  ? 
'Tis  better  to  have  friends,  signor, 

With  only  heaven  above  you. 
Nell'  albergo  della  luna 

There'll  be  none  to  say  you  nay, 
And  all  will  there  embrace  you, 

And  make  you  holiday. 


66          THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

"I  cannot  go  with  you,  signor, 

In  that  great  world  to  be 
That  man  has  made  like  a  house  of  gold,  — 

It  was  not  made  for  me. 
Caro  signore,  be  my  guest, 

For  you  with  me  can  come, 
And  in  the  world  that  God  has  made 

We  both  will  be  at  home. 

'Tis  great,  signore  mio, 

When  the  summer  nights  begin, 
To  take  the  blanket  of  the  stars 

And  feel  Him  wrap  you  in." 
He  deftly  showed  a  gleam  of  steel 

In  the  streaming  street-lamp  yellow ; 
"My  heart  is  yours,  my  life,"  —  he  bowed, 

"Ed  anche  il  coltello." 

And  I  beneath  whose  feet  the  weight 

Of  all  this  world  rang  hollow, 
Who  felt  his  warm  arms  round  me  fold, 

Was  half  disposed  to  follow. 


CALOGERO  67 


Still  on  my  shelf  the  fan  is 
That  he  gave  me  years  ago. 

Che  addios  !  che  fiori ! 
Dolce,  bel  Calogero. 


FLOWER  OF  ETNA 

T)OY  on  the  almond  bough, 

Clinging  against  the  wind, 
A-sway  from  foot  to  brow, 

With  the  emerald  sea  behind ; 
The  illimitable  blue, 
The  lone  tree,  and  you  ! 

Aloft  gleams  Etna's  snow 
In  the  bright  weather ; 

The  green  surf  boils  below, 
Vast  crests  together ; 

On  the  high  hillside  we 

Plunder  the  blowing  tree. 

Boy  of  the  mountain-cave 
Beside  the  flower-hung  pool ; 

What  snowy  torrents  lave 
The  bather  beautiful ! 


FLOWER  OF  ETNA  ( 

And  the  waters  drip  all  over 
The  sun  glistening  on  their  lover. 

O  blithest  in  the  tavern, 

Dark  head  above  the  wine; 
Blooms  in  the  dingy  cavern 

A  creature  of  the  vine ; 
Vine-bloom  upon  his  glowing  cheeks, 
And  from  soft  eyes  the  vine-light  speaks. 

He  sports ;  what  youthful  blisses 

Of  trifles  there  befell ! 
Magic  the  poet  misses 

The  Bacchic  boy  could  spell ; 
He  stuck  red  cherries  in  his  ears,  — 
He  smiled, — and  slew  three  thousand  years. 

Once  in  the  lone  wood 

Beyond  the  long  red  clover,  — 
Sombre,  in  solitude, 

The  gray  rock  hung  far  over ; 
The  parting  bushes  prest 
Their  young  leaves  to  his  breast. 


70  THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Dear  heart  !  how  had  he  learned 
The  world's  magnetic  soul  ? 

Sudden  on  me  he  turned, 
While  the  rose  twilight  stole 

Over  shy  features  bright, 

A  face  all  love  and  light. 

Fond  boy,  art  cannot  limn  thee, 
Bud  of  the  white  dawn's  hour ; 

And  language  doth  but  dim  thee, 
Youth's  violet,  Etna's  flower ; 

But  I  will  bear  thy  face  with  me 

As  far  as  shines  eternity. 


ORFEO 

"  rpEACH  me  to  kiss  the  Dorian  flute, 

The  Dorian  pipe  to  blow ; 
I  with  my  own  breath  would  salute 

Great  Pan  before  I  go ; 
And  may  the  genius  of  the  place 
Adopt  me  in  the  shepherd  race  !" 

So,  perched  on  Monte  Venere, 
I  prayed  a  little  goat-skin  boy 

To  leave  his  herd  and  sit  by  me, 

And  teach  me  all  the  shepherd's  joy. 

"What  is  your  name  ?"  to  him  I  said : 

"  Orfeo,"  blithe  reply  he  made. 

I  took  the  flute,  I  took  the  pipe ; 

No  reed  would  to  my  breath  respond ; 
He  laughed  to  see  me  blow,  and  wipe 

My  lips,  the  pretty  vagabond ; 
71 


72  THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Still  nature's  child,  though  notes  I  snatch, 
Was  victor  in  that  singing  match. 

But  I  was  paid  when,  as  behooved, 

I  threw  into  his  shaggy  lap 
The  gifts  by  ancient  time  approved, 

My  London  scarf  and  Naples  cap ; 
And,  as  of  old,  the  happy  boy 
Leaped  high,  and  clapped  his  hands  for  joy. 


THE  FESTA 

T  HAVE  seen  a  vision  pure 

As  is  the  sea's  white  foam, 
Full  of  the  divine  allure 
Of  beauty  in  her  home. 

With  Giovan'  as  I  was  rowing 

By  the  lilac  sea-cliff's  breach, 
Where  the  pinkish  houses  glowing 

Cling  for  foothold,  each  o'er  each, 
Came  a  clangor  of  bells  blowing 

O'er  the  indigo-lipped  beach, 
From  the  fishers'  low  church  flowing 

Down  the  brown  nets'  amber  reach. 

Now  the  loud  bombs  quick-resounding 

Vivas  to  the  saint  declare  ! 
How  the  festa  is  confounding,  — 

Salvos  to  the  throne  of  prayer  ! 

73 


74    THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

From  the  sea  the  boys  race  bounding 
To  the  booming  strada  there ; 

Comes  the  long  procession  rounding 
The  marina  to  the  square. 

Young  girls,  virginal  and  flower-like, 

Each  a  lily  in  her  hand, 
Walk  before  the  image  tower-like, 

Borne  abroad  to  bless  the  land ; 
And  round  about  the  maidens,  bower-like, 

Youthful  bathers  sun-bright  stand ; 
Still  the  salt  wave,  shimmering  shower-like, 

Beads  their  bodies  golden-tanned. 

Sweetly  walked  the  maidens  singing 
White-robed,  each  a  lily  bore ; 

Reverent  stood  the  fair  youth  ringing 
That  fair  scene  by  that  fair  shore. 


ST.    JOHN  AND  THE  FAUN 
I 

BLEST  Imagination, 
Sphered  'neath  the  eye's  frail  lid, 
That  in  apparent  beauty 

Unveils  the  beauty  hid  ! 
In  the  gleaming  of  the  instant 

Abides  the  immortal  thing ; 
Our  souls  that  voyage  unspeaking 

Press  forward,  wing  and  wing ; 
From  every  passing  object 

A  brighter  radiance  pours ; 
The  Lethe  of  our  daily  lives 

Sweeps  what  eternal  shores  ! 

II 

On  the  deep  below  Amalfi, 

Where  the  long  roll  of  the  wave 

Slowly  breathed,  and  slipped  beneath  me 
To  gray  cliff  and  sounding  cave, 

75 


76  THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Came  a  boat-load  of  dark  fishers, 
Passed,  and  on  the  bright  sea  shone ; 

There,  the  vision  of  a  moment, 
I  beheld  the  young  St.  John. 

At  the  stern  the  boy  stood  bending 

Full  his  dreaming  gaze  on  me ; 
Inexorably  spread  between  us 

Flashed  the  blue  strait  of  the  sea ; 
Slow  receding,  —  distant,  —  distant,  - 

While  my  bosom  scarce  drew  breath,  - 
Dreaming  eyes  on  my  eyes  dreaming 

Holy  beauty  without  death. 

Ill 

In  the  cloudland  o'er  Amalfi 

Where  with  mists  the  deep  ravine 

Like  a  cauldron  smoked,  and,  clearing, 
Showed,  far  down,  the  pictured  scene, 

Capes  and  bays  and  peaks  and  ocean, 
And  the  city,  like  a  gem, 


ST.  JOHN  £ND  THE  FAUN  77 

Set  in  circlets  of  pale  azure 

That  her  beauty  ring  and  hem,  — 
Once,  returning  from  the  chasm 

By  the  mountain's  woodland  way, 
Underneath  the  oak  and  chestnut 

Where  I  loved  to  make  delay, 
(And  dark  boys  and  girls  with  fagots 

Would  pass  near  on  that  wild  lawn, 
And  at  times  they  brought  me  rosebuds)  — 

There  one  day  I  saw  a  faun. 

The  wood  was  still  with  noontide, 

The  very  trees  seemed  lone, 
When  from  a  neighboring  thicket 

His  moon-eyes  on  me  shone, 
Motionless,  and  bright,  and  staring, 

And  with  a  startled  grace ; 
As  nature,  wildly  magical 

Was  the  beauty  of  his  face ; 
And  as  some  gentle  creature 

That,  curious,  has  fear, 


78  THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Dumb  he  stood  and  gazed  upon  me, 
But  did  not  venture  near ; 

And  I  moved  not,  nor  motioned, 
Nor  gave  him  any  sign, 

Nor  broke  the  momentary  spell 
Of  the  old  world  divine. 

IV 

Love,  with  no  other  agent 

Save  communion  by  the  eye, 
Evoked  from  those  bright  creatures 

Our  human  unity ; 
There,  flowering  from  old  ages, 

Hung  on  time's  blossoming  stem 
All  that  fairest  was  in  me 

Or  loveliest  in  them ; 
And  truly  it  was  happiness 

Unto  a  poet's  heart 
To  find  that  living  in  his  breast 

Which  is  immortal  art. 


THE  SICILIAN 

TTIS  golden  face,  un  tipo, 

Was  minted  like  a  coin ; 
On  the  reverse  un  toro,  — 

So  stood  his  neck  and  loin. 
The  bull  of  Agrigentum 

A  thousand  years  had  ploughed 
The  furrow  of  his  fathers,  - 

Per  Baccho  !  he  was  proud  ! 

To  the  beautiful  old  ages 

His  line  ran  straight  and  true ; 
His  blood  coursed  like  the  clover-tops 

Beneath  his  cheeks'  bronze  hue ; 
And  all  his  skin  was  polished  brown, 

And  muscled  hard  with  toil ; 
And  whefr  he  turned  his  back,  Ecco! 

A  classic  of  the  soil. 

79 


A  DAY  AT  CASTROGIOVANNI 


ETNA 

T3IRD-WAKENED  out  of  sleep  my  darkling 

eyes 

Saw  Etna  bloom  and  whiten  in  the  dawn, 
While  over  hollow  leagues  of  crag  and  lawn 

Brightened  earth's  edge  upon  the  far-set  skies ; 

Now,  volleying  light,  the  lucid  mountain  lies 
Transfigured,  in  the  breath  of  gold  updrawn, 
Dim  base  to  rosy  plume ;  and  high  the  wan 

Worn  moon  turns  snow,  and  worships  as  it  dies. 

Then  o'er  the  shoulder  of  that  mount  in  heaven 
Rose  like  a  moon  divine,  celestial  seen, 

The  Star  to  which  all  glory  hath  been  given, 
The  orb  of  life  whence  all  things  here  have  been. 

The  nightingales  sang  on ;  — and  I  shall  see 
No  sight  so  mighty  in  tranquillity. 

80 


n 

PROSERPINE 

BY   LAKE   PERGUSA 

T"  IFTED  on  hollow  lands  and  grassy  miles, 

The  lake  low-girdled,  to  all  memories  sweet, 
Draws  heaven  to  itself ;  and  wave-flung  smiles 
The  laughter  of  the  waters  in  the  wheat. 
It  is  a  morn  of  May 
Before  the  heat  of  day ; 

The  swallow  comes  among  the  reeds  to  drink 
The  wind-blown  cup  of  blue  amid  the  green, 
And  sings  his  song ;  and  near  or  far  is  seen 
The  plash  of  wild-fowl  on  the  life-fringed  brink ; 

See,  every  step  I  take 
Stirs  up  a  host  of  azure  dragon-flies ; 
Floored  with  swift  wings  the  path  cerulean  lies, 
And  round  my  knees  flutters  a  living  lake. 

I  pick  the  flowers  that  Proserpine  let  fall, 

Sung  through  the  world  by  every  honeyed  muse ; 

G  81 


82    THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Wild  morning-glories,  daisies  waving  tall, 
At  every  step  is  something  new  to  choose ; 
And  oft  I  stop  and  gaze 
Upon  the  flowery  maze ; 
By  yonder  cypresses,  on  that  soft  rise, 

Scarce  seen  through  poppies  and  the  knee-deep 

wheat, 

Juts  the  dark  cleft  where  on  her  came  the  fleet 
Thunder-black  horses,  and  the  cloud's  surprise, 

And  he  who  filled  the  place. 
Did  marigolds  bright  as  these,  gilding  the  mist, 
Drop  from  her  maiden  zone?     Wert  thou  last 

kissed, 
Pale  hyacinth,  last  seen,  before  his  face  ? 

O  swallow,  on  the  rocked  reed  warbling  long, 
Dost  thou  remember  such  a  morn  of  May  ? 
There  is  a  chord  of  silence  in  thy  song, 

Deepening  the  hush  on  which  it  dies  away. 
Ah,  flower  so  pure,  so  white, 
Winnowing  the  air  like  light, 


A  DAY  AT  CASTROGIOVANNI  83 

Whiter  than  Phosphor  in  the  golden  morn,  — 
The  bright  narcissus  she  was  wont  to  wear, 
The  star  of  springtime  shining  in  her  hair, 

Wasted  not  thus,  immortally  forlorn ; 
Soon  will  thy  soul  be  ta'en, 

While  still  the  bird's  song  haunts  the  warmed  sky ; 

With  all  dead  flowers  that  were  thy  light  shall  lie ; 
Empty  the  barley-field,  and  cut  the  grain. 

Oh,  whence  has  silence  stolen  on  all  things  here, 

Where  every  sight  makes  music  to  the  eye  ? 
Through  all  one  unison  is  singing  clear ; 
All  sounds,  all  colors  in  one  rapture  die. 
More  slow,  O  heart,  more  slow  ! 
A  presence  from  below 
Moves  toward  the  breathing  world  from  that  dark 

deep, 

Whereof  men  fabling  tell  what  no  man  knows, 
By  little  fires  amid  the  winter  snows, 
When  earth  lies  stark  in  her  titanic  sleep 
And  doth  with  cold  expire ; 


84  THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

He  brings  thee  all,  O  Maiden,  flower  of  earth, 
Her  child  in  whom  all  nature  comes  to  birth, 
Thee,  the  fruition  of  all  dark  desire. 

No  living  eyes  have  seen  him  save  thine  own, 

And  hence  he  bore  thee  to  the  dark  deep  under, 
Far  from  the  beauty  of  this  heaven-bright  zone, 
Where  the  corn  ripens  in  the  summer  thunder, 
And  all  things  throb,  and  lave 
In  color's  rainbow  wave. 

Vainly  we  question  things  whose  home  is  here : 
No  rose  that  ever  bloomed,  nor  herb  of  grace 
Crushed  with  sweet  odors,  ever  saw  his  face, 
Nor  golden  lilies  laid  upon  the  bier. 

Nor  only  now  I  ponder 
Hunger  divine  that  beauty  cannot  dull ; 
Who  beauty  loves,  his  soul  is  beautiful, 
The  master  said,  and  oft  on  this  I  wonder. 

O  Proserpine,  dream  not  that  thou  art  gone 
Far  from  our  loves,  half -human,  half -divine ; 


A  DAY  AT  CASTROGIOVANNI  85 

Thou  hast  a  holier  adoration  won 

In  many  a  heart  that  worships  at  no  shrine. 
Where  light  and  warmth  behold  me, 
And  flower  and  wheat  enfold  me, 
I  lift  a  dearer  prayer  than  all  prayers  past : 
He  who  so  loved  thee  that  the  live  earth  clove 
Before  his  pathway  unto  light  and  love, 
And  took  thy  flower-full  bosom,  —  who  at  last 

Shall  every  blossom  cull,  - 
Lover  the  most  of  what  is  most  our  own, 
The  mightiest  lover  that  the  world  has  known, 
Dark  lover,  Death,  —  was  he  not  beautiful  ? 


Ill 

DEMETER 

TTERE  stood  thy  temple,  on  the  mountain's 
•*"*•     horn, 

Lifted  high  over  the  subjected  plain ; 
Here  rose  the  sower's  incense  in  the  morn ; 

Here  pealed  his  loud  thanksgiving  for  the  rain. 
Demeter,  goddess  of  the  fruitful  earth, 
Our  Mother  of  the  Wheat,  behold  thy  hearth  ! 

Vacant  the  rock,  of  every  herb  swept  clean, 
Juts  naked  in  the  blue  sky,  —  all  is  gone : 

Tall  grow  the  crops  beneath ;  the  fields  lie  green ; 
The  rain  cloud  has  not  failed ;  the  sun  has  shone. 

Were  the  hands  crazed  that  reared  thy  altar-stone 

And  laid  the  first-fruits  of  the  world  thereon  ? 

Long  generations  knelt  in  this  hoar  place 

And  filled  thy  marble  hall  with  prayer  and  praise ; 

And  sire  and  stripling  of  the  mountain  race 
Paid  here  thy  golden  dues  and  went  their  ways,  - 

86 


A  DAY  AT  CASTROGIOVANNI  87 

Thy  children,  —  vanished  all  in  Time's  advance,  — 
Vanished  their  temple  !     O  dense  ignorance  ! 

Yet  surely  there  are  gods  —  thou  or  another, 
Some  happier  offspring  of  eternal  mind ; 

Nor  halts  man's  adoration,  mighty  Mother, 
Nor  all  his  yearning  through  the  world  to  find ; 

All  things  have  had  his  worship,  —  earth,  sea,  air ; 

Oh,  unto  whom  now  shall  he  lift  up  prayer  ? 

From  old  religion  and  that  fair  array 
Of  beauty  and  of  love  once  eminent, 

He  turned  unto  the  light,  clearer  than  day, 
Within  his  breast,  and  thought  it  heaven-sent ; 

He  throned  invisible  a  world  ideal ; 

Again  the  thousand  years  their  will  reveal. 

Crescent  and  Cross,  with  equal  carnage  wet, 
Rode  a  long  age  the  aye-revolving  skies ; 

They  are  declining  now ;   soon  shall  they  set ; 
But  over  man  shall  other  heavens  arise, 

And  other  thoughts  and  other  rites  appear, 

And  other  forms  shall  the  old  faith  endear. 


88  THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Temple  and  shrine  have  fallen  to  the  ground ; 

Minster  and  spire  by  truth  deserted  lie ; 
Minaret  and  mosque  have  heard  a  far  roar  sound, 

And  tremble  in  their  little  squares  of  sky ; 
All  ancient  superstition  has  been  doomed  - 
Soon  shall  the  stars  see  the  old  world  entombed. 

The  sorceries  of  midnight  and  moonshine, 
Brewers  of  witchcraft,  dabbling  in  eclipse, 

Went  out  long  since  on  that  dark  border-line 
Where  the  old  world  into  the  new  world  slips ; 

Now  go  the  gods  from  every  land  away  — 

So  great  a  dawn  is  broadening  into  day. 

And  gladly  we  behold  the  great  event 

That  frees  our  cities  from  the  hooded  fear ; 

And  joyfully  we  take  the  element 
Of  nature  for  our  habitation  here ; 

Ours,  not  another's  :  but  old  woes  abide ; 

Not  yet  the  soul  is  wholly  purified. 

We  will  not  mourn,  deserted  by  the  gods 
By  us  so  much  beloved,  the  gods  divine, 


A  DAY  AT  CASTROGIOVANNI  89 

Though  on  them  also  fall  the  solemn  clods, 
As  on  our  earthen  sleep  where  we  recline ; 
111  is  he  bred,  and  foolish  draws  his  breath, 
Who  has  not  learned  to  live  life-long  with  death. 

Once,  O  Demeter,  was  thy  woe  as  ours, 

And,  like  our  own,  all  mortal  was  thy  mood ; 
Then,  weeping,  thou  didst  crave  through  orphaned 

hours 

Holy  responses  to  lorn  motherhood ; 
And  when  thy  wandering  through  the  world  was 

o'er, 
Men  found  thee  sitting  by  Eleusis'  shore. 

A  light  was  in  thy  face ;  not  of  our  sphere 
Nor  of  the  world  Olympian  that  clear  beam ; 

And  from  them  passed  the  old  religious  fear 
Who  there  beheld  the  Resurrection  gleam ; 

And  thou  didst  shrine  in  sacred  rites  that  word 

Which  first  by  us  was  in  thy  temple  heard. 

Ah,  desolate  I  found  that  pleasant  shore 

Where  sat  thy  temple,  once  the  awe  of  Greece ; 


90          THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

From  later  gods  we  hold  an  ampler  store, 

And  still  the  granaries  of  the  world  increase ; 
But  that  great  word  was  moulded  not  in  vain 
Upon  man's  lips,  the  planter  of  the  grain. 

The  spirit-thronged  world  has  passed  away, 
And  shorn  of  terror  is  the  sun's  eclipse ; 

Science  has  dulled  our  wonder  day  by  day ; 
No  awe,  no  silence,  lingers  on  our  lips ; 

For  deity  in  things  we  do  not  look ; 

Now  closed  to  all  the  gods  is  nature's  book. 

Yet,  though  man  grows  in  truth  from  more  to 
more, 

Old  forces  through  our  mystic  being  sweep ; 
The  soul  remembereth  its  holy  lore ; 

Some  moods  habitual  to  mankind  we  keep ; 
We  believe ;    though  time  forever  on  the  scroll 
Buries  the  early  writing  of  the  soul. 

Lo,  I  believed  in  all  the  gods  in  turn, 

And  know  they  have  no  being  but  in  me ; 


A  DAY  AT  CASTROGIOVANNI  91 

All  is  the  form  of  what  doth  inly  burn, 

Up  from  the  fetich  to  eternity ; 
Wherever  man  doth  pray,  and  finds  faith  there, 
I  kneel  beside  him  and  repeat  his  prayer. 

O  Thou  of  many  names,  whom  I  invoke, 

Thought  in  our  souls  and  breath  within  our  lungs, 

One  is  the  burden  of  the  human  yoke, 

Though  many  are  the  earth's  confused  tongues ; 

Christian  and  Moslem,  Buddhist,  Pagan,  Greek, 

A  thousand  dialects,  the  same  prayer  speak. 

Illusion  all ;  for  only  man  is  real, 

Dreaming  on  truth  through  symbols  known  to 

sense ; 
Of  his  own  heart  is  formed  each  new  ideal 

That  fires  the  nations  with  its  eloquence ; 
So  spring-like  through  the  centuries  ever  ran 
The  resurrection  of  the  hope  of  man. 

Thou  wilt  not  answer,  who  in  us  art  power ; 
Yet  quicker  is  the  beating  of  my  heart, 


92          THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Seeing  from  year  to  year,  and  hour  to  hour, 

The  joyful  springtime  in  this  old  world  start, 
And  in  me  feeling  the  fresh  power  of  man 
Unfold,  and  recreate  what  time  began. 

For  now  creation  is,  not  long  ago 

In  chaos ;  chaos  reigned  not  on  the  deep ; 

Order  is  all  of  nature  that  we  know. 

Which,  changing  all,  itself  unchanged  doth  keep  ; 

And  true  creation  is  the  soul's  alone  — 

A  light  that  grows  upon  the  vast  unknown. 

O  foul  and  bloody  strife,  since  time  began, 
Up  from  the  beast  to  man's  imperial  mould  ! 

O  long  his  empire-toil,  since  he  was  man, 
The  soul's  confederation  to  unfold  ! 

And  many  heavens  he  scaled  ere  Bethlehem's  star 

Hymned  human  love  above  all  gods  that  are  ! 

He  doth  prevail,  who  masters,  age  by  age, 
The  secret  forces  that  through  nature  ply, 

And  with  the  changes  of  the  mind  grows  sage,  - 
Whose  faith  burns  brighter  as  the  old  truths  die ; 


A  DAY  AT  CASTROGIOVANNI  93 

Truth  is  the  cloud,  moulded  by  every  storm ; 
Faith,  like  the  rainbow,  changes  not  its  form. 

He  hath  transcended  nature  —  such  a  flame 
Is  nourished  on  his  body ;  he  shall  rise, 

Remembering  the  altars  whence  he  came, 
To  be  for  all  the  nations  sacrifice ; 

Nor  only  for  far  ages  is  the  fruit  — 

Eternal  beams  did  in  his  first  loves  shoot. 

There  is  no  truth  save  what  to  him  is  known ; 

There  is  no  beauty  save  within  his  eye ; 
There  is  no  love  but  what  in  him  has  grown, 

And  only  in  his  mandate  right  doth  lie ; 
Justice  and  mercy  his,  and  good  and  ill, 
And  virtue  throneless  save  within  his  will. 

No  longer  outwardly  shall  godhood  shine, 

To  tend  the  flock,  the  ripened  field  to  thresh ; 

Nor  only  Christ  shall  harbor  love  divine 
Within  the  tabernacle  of  our  flesh ; 

But  every  soul  shall  be  that  form  of  grace, 

And  universal  man  love's  dwelling-place. 


94  THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

This  is  the  faith,  the  crown  of  many  years, 

That  long  has  gathered  prescience  in  his  heart ; 

Now  shall  it  run  its  course  through  blood  and  tears 
Wherever  from  the  world  the  gods  depart ; 

Sealed  by  this  intuition,  over  all, 

That  truth  doth  unto  resurrection  fall. 

Oh,  fain  to  love  the  gods,  the  gods  divine, 
He  clasped  unto  his  breast  the  phantom  fair 

That  emanates  from  nature  and  doth  shine 
From  isle  and  mount  on  visionary  air ; 

And  thee  he  deified,  O  Mother-Love, 

And  throned  thee  on  the  rock,  his  fields  above. 

Each  race  in  turn  a  mighty  harvest  reaps, 
And  shares  with  gods  the  glory  of  its  toil ; 

And  old  divinity  forever  keeps 

Some  portion  in  the  consecrated  soil ; 

And  what  was  sacred  once  is  sacred  still  — 

Lo,  great  Demeter,  I  salute  thy  hill. 

Though  born  too  late  to  bring  unto  thy  shrine 
From  scanty  stores  a  poor  man's  offering, 


A  DAY  AT  CASTROGIOVANNI  95 

The  empire  of  another  world  is  mine, 

Whose  only  treasure  is  the  lyre  I  bring ; 
I  lay  it  down  upon  the  naked  rock, 
And  on  thy  gates  invisible  I  knock. 

0  Giver  of  the  Corn,  thy  child  is  dead, 

And  Greece  lies  buried  by  the  sounding  sea ; 
A  greater  sun  uprears  a  mightier  head 

On  a  new  land  where  many  oceans  be ; 
And  where  the  bison  and  the  reindeer  ran 
A  world  of  wheat  renews  the  hope  of  man. 

1  thank  thee  for  our  food  through  sun  and  rain, 
The   summer's   wealth,   the   winter's   garnered 

store ; 
I  thank  thee  for  the  rising  of  the  grain ; 

And  ever  thee  I  thank,  and  more  and  more, 
For  the  hope  hid  in  kernels  of  the  corn, 
Great  Mother,  vanished  from  the  mountain's  horn. 


THE  RHYTHM 

rhythm  of  beauty  beat  in  my  blood  all 
day; 

The  rhythm  of  passion  beat  in  my  blood  all  night ; 
The  morning  came,  and  it  seemed  the  end  of  the 
world. 

Day,  thou  wast  so  beautiful  I  held  my  breath  from 

song  ! 
Night,  how  passion-wild  thy  throb,  how  voiceless, 

oh,  how  strong ! 

The  night  was  not  more  lonely  than  the  day ;  — 
But  death-deep  was  the  glimmer  of  the  snow-dawn 

far  away. 

I  remember  the  throb  of  beauty  that  caught  my 
throat  from  song, 

And  the  wilder  throb  when  passion  held  me  voice 
less  the  night  long ; 

96 


THE  RHYTHM  97 

And  life  with  speed  gone  silent  swept  to  its  seas 

untold ;  — 
But  oh,  the  death- white  glory  on  the  pale  height 

far  and  cold  ! 

When  passion  gives  beauty  yet  one  day  more  the 

rapture  of  my  breath, 
Ever  a  luminous  silence  comes  dawn,  and  the  chill 

more  cold  than  death ; 
But  rhythm  to  rhythm,  deep  unto  deep,  through 

the  years  my  spirit  is  hurled, 
As  when  that  morning  on  Etna  came,  and  it  seemed 

the  end  of  the  world. 

This  is  it  to  be  immortal,  O  Life  found  death  after 

death, 
From  the  deep  of  passion  and  beauty  to  draw  the 

infinite  breath, 
To  be  borne  through  the  throb  and  the  throe  and 

the  sinking  heart  of  strife, 
And  to  find  in  the  trough  one  more  billow  of  thy 

infinite  rhythm,  O  Life  ! 


TO  THE  VENUS  OF  SYRACUSE 

SILENT  form  of  beauty  !     O  divine 
Body  of  woman  given  to  mortal  gaze, 
Round  which  the  ever-moving  sculptural  line 
Meanders  motionless,  and  clasps  the  ways 
Of  all  men's  longing  in  its  pure  embrace, 

Moulding  the  marble  vesture  of  desire  - 
What  deep  power  hast  thou  to  exalt  our  race, 
And  lovers'  thoughts  ennoble  and  inspire  ! 

This  is  the  form  of  her  who  ruled  supreme 

The  master-lovers  of  antiquity ; 
Great    spirits    they    were    who    could    so    fairly 
dream, 

And  in  a  woman's  form  divinely  see 
The  loveliness  unto  the  world  unknown 
Flow  into  being  in  the  breathless  stone. 

98 


HELICON 

S~\  HAD  I  native  power  to  sweep  thee, 
Lyre  that  awoke  the  Delian  dawn, 
And  with  the  soul  of  music  steep  thee, 

From  old  Hellenic  poets  drawn, 
Who  would  their  joys  and  griefs  rehearse 
In  pure,  pellucid  Attic  verse ; 

Then  would  I  loose  in  noble  numbers 
The  heart  I  dare  not  now  invoke 

To  stir  the  golden  eagle's  slumbers 
And  horses  of  the  sun  to  yoke ; 

Ocean  would  hist  his  waves  to  peace, 

And  heavenly  stars  their  music  cease. 


99 


THE  DELPHIAN  CHILD 

TTIGH  over  Castaly,  on  Delphi's  steep, 

A  cabin  stands  where  loops  the  mountain 
way, 
A  ruin,  girdled  by  the  azure  deep, 

And  o'er  its  rude  stones  giant  crags  hold  sway. 

Fain  would  I  believe  that  He  who  for  that  home 
Found  humble  room  in  such  majestic  air, 

Marked,  too,  my  path  upon  the  pale  sea's  foam, 
Foreknew  my  need  and  drew  my  footsteps  there. 

Two  children  stood  before  the  dark  low  door, 
A  six-year  boy  holding  an  infant's  hand ; 

The  single  garment  that  his  bare  form  wore 
Fluttered  and  clung  at  the  light  wind's  command. 

Hunger  made  delicate  his  face  and  limbs ; 

Eyes  violet-pale  that  only  knew  to  stare ; 
Ah,  did  such  boyhood  lips  pour  Delphic  hymns  ? 

And  did  Apollo  wear  such  golden  hair  ? 
100 


THE  DELPHIAN  CHILD  101 

Father  and  mother  gone,  and  they  left  lone 
Night-long  and  through  the  longer  day  —  no 

food; 
Facing  the  gray  magnificence  of  stone, 

Where  no  man  came,  the  unconscious  suppliants 
stood. 

They  looked  for  no  relief,  they  asked  no  boon, 
But  timidly  upon  the  stranger  gazed ; 

Remote  down  western  skies,  and  far  from  noon, 
The  parting  lord  of  light  divinely  blazed. 

Poor  children  of  the  god-deserted  hill, 

What  bond  with   me  should   to   this   boy  be 
known  ? 

Yet  when  I  came  again  their  wants  to  fill, 
His  tender  fingers  never  left  my  own. 

Sweetly  he  took  the  orange  and  the  bread ; 

And  o'er  my  hand  the  little  prince  of  grace 
Bowed  beautiful  that  living  golden  head,  - 

It  was  not  joy  whose  light  was  in  his  face. 


102         THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Still  closer  bent  that  glory  o'er  my  hand, 
The  infant  majesty  of  life  child-borne ; 

Then,  shuddering  from  the  far  Judean  land, 
I  felt  the  fibres  of  the  whole  earth  mourn 

Beneath  my  flesh,  while  warmly  wandered  there 
From  that  child-mouth  the  breath  angelical ; 

And  as  through  palpitant  and  fire-flecked  air 
Upon  Christ's  hand  I  saw  his  kisses  fall. 

"  World-pain ! "  I  sighed ;  "  how  is  my  heart  a  pool 
Of  sorrow,  brimming  tears  at  each  light  touch ! 

Oh,  in  life's  tragedy  play  not  the  fool ; 

Have  patience !    thou  has  suffered  overmuch. 

"Not  in  the  globe  of  nature  hast  thou  found 
The  Hider  of  Himself  in  things  that  be ; 

Not  in  the  march  of  progress,  world-renowned, 
The  Providence  whose  breath  is  history. 

"If  ever,  only  in  some  random  hour 
The  miracle  of  flashing  soul  on  soul 

Shows  pouring  in  thyself  the  secret  power 
That  oft  in  simple  deeds  doth  purest  roll. 


THE  DELPHIAN  CHILD  103 

"Oh,  of  the  Delphian  not  unbeloved, 

With  race  and  lore  dowered  deep,  the  son  of  time, 
Save  in  thy  soul  how  far  from  him  removed, 

This  child,  o'er  whom  Parnassus  aye  doth 
climb,  — 

"Now  going  hence  from  great  Apollo's  hill 
And  slopes  of  holiness  by  old  faith  trod, 

Own  humbly  while  he  holds  thy  fingers  still, 
'This  Delphian  child  hath  brought  me  nearest 
God.'" 


THE  ISLE 

A  LL  day  the  island-world  had  been 

To  me  a  finer  sphere, 
And  all  that  I  had  touched  or  seen 

Grew  intimate  and  dear ; 
The  world  of  recollection  slept, 

It  had  no  power  to  stir,  - 
So  sky  and  sea  and  mountain  kept 

Me  beauty's  prisoner. 

Far  from  the  human-haunted  shore 

In  sunk  and  cloven  dells, 
Deep  nooks,  where  caverned  waters  pour, 

I  dipped  in  iris  wells ; 
There  silence  seemed  a  higher  sense 

Than  is  known  unto  the  ear, 
And  life  a  being  more  intense 

Than  doth  anywhere  appear. 

104 


THE  ISLE  105 

An  arm's-breadth  off  she  breathed  the  wild, 

Her  face  was  golden  fair, 
A  Greek  girl,  supple,  warm  and  mild, 

And  half  her  figure  bare ; 
She  stood  so  lightly  on  the  mould, 

So  silently,  so  near, 
I  felt  the  forest  round  her  fold 

A  phantom  atmosphere. 

And  all  about  such  faun-like  bliss 

Was  breathing  from  the  scene  ! 
Those  aery  rocks,  that  green  abyss, 

Antiquity  had  been  ! 
She  glided  down  the  dark-stemmed  wood,  — 

Ah,  had  she  known  !   the  grace 
Of  an  immortal  sisterhood 

Was  on  her  form  and  face. 

Old  isle  !     what  handed  lovers  oft 

Wandered  in  thy  dark  grove, 
With  undropped  eyes  and  touches  soft, 

Kisses,  and  vows,  and  love  ! 


106         THE  FLIGHT  AND   OTHER  POEMS 

Ah,  had  she  known,  —  would  she  have  fled 

And  let  the  glamour  die, 
Or  covert  on  to  covert  led 

And  answered  sigh  with  sigh  ? 

I  came  where  sh,ores  in  moonlight  slept 

On  the  dark  violet  air, 
As  if  in  dreams  their  slumbers  kept 

A  reign  of  memory  there,  — 
As  if  a  thousand  years  ago 

Something  from  them  had  flown, 
Ocean  nor  heaven  no  more  shall  know, 

Nor  any  lover  own. 


TO  AN  IONIAN  BOY 

~DOY  of  Mitylene  !  thou 

Of  the  immortal  foot  and  brow, 
Sailing  o'er  the  harbor-sea 
In  my  boat  that  hideth  thee, 
Fleeing  from  the  Turkish  power 
That  defiles  thine  Asian  bower, 
Seeking  that  far  western  shore, 
Where  thy  hopes  have  gone  before 
Even  with  thy  childish  years 
Through  heavy  toil  and  orphan  tears  ! 
Thou,  whose  eyes  of  wonder  see 
The  American  in  me ; 
Confident  to  take  my  hand 
As  an  earnest  of  the  land 
That  shall  mother  thee  and  thine, 
Our  common  mother,  thine  and  mine  ! 
I  wonder  at  thy  courage,  child, 
Venturing  the  unknown  wild ; 

107 


108        THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

The  ticket,  hidden  in  thy  sole, 
Thy  anchor  where  the  great  seas  roll ; 
The  White  Star,  pinned  within  thy  shirt 
Thy  only  talisman  from  hurt ; 
Earth's  and  ocean's  waif  thou  art ! 
Waif  of  God  !  brave  is  thy  heart ! 

Three  hundred  years  have  passed  away 
Since  upon  the  Devon  bay 
Rowed  the  English  emigrant 
From  whose  loins  my  line  I  vaunt. 
Centuries  three  their  leaves  have  shed 
Since  on  the  rock  he  made  his  bed, 
And  helped  to  build  with  axe  and  book 
The  land  to  which  all  nations  look. 
Generations  nine  have  wrought 
To  save  and  better  what  he  brought ; 
Each,  in  turn,  on  land  and  sea, 
Toiling  for  the  next  to  be. 
Lo,  the  forest  fell  like  wheat ; 
Cities  blossomed  round  their  feet ; 


TO  AN  IONIAN  BOY  109 

Came  war,  came  peace,  came  war  again ; 
And  now  'twas  muscle,  now  'twas  brain ; 
And  now  'twas  gold,  and  now  'twas  blood ; 
All  things  tried  them,  —  firm  they  stood ; 
And  the  land  from  sea  to  sea 
Spread,  and  was  filled  with  liberty ; 
And  serving  mankind  more  and  more 
The  race  found  sweetness  at  the  core,  — 
A  hand  of  welcome  for  all  men, 
And  free  to  all  the  book,  the  pen. 

So  grew  the  world  my  boyhood  trod, 
Thy  home  to  be,  thy  sky,  thy  sod, 
And  climbed  Time's  zodiac  to  shed 
Heaven's  horn  of  blessing  on  thy  head. 
To  this  end  my  fathers  toiled ; 
Take  thou  the  heritage  unsoiled,  - 
Years  of  ever  milder  power, 
Years  of  ever  wealthier  dower ; 
Make  free  to  all  the  tool,  the  soil,  - 
So  shalt  thou  share  the  mighty  toil ! 


110         THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

For  now  full  circuit  comes  the  wheel ; 
The  land  a  newer  blood  doth  feel, 
Thine  and  others ;  take  thy  turn, 
And  with  the  new  world's  passion  burn  ! 
Unto  thee  we  give  the  state, 
Rich  and  glorious,  free  and  great ; 
To  the  old  blood  I  belong ; 
Swan-like  dies  it  in  my  song ; 
And  all  that  was  of  life  and  love, 
Behold  I  am  the  fruit  thereof,  — 
Speeding  on  the  ocean  track, 
To  the  old  world  turning  back, 
And  now  unto  thy  land  I  come 
As  the  spirit  travels  home. 

When  again  three  hundred  years 

Have  torn  their  way  through  blood  and  tears 

(For  this  old  world  will  not  change, 

Howsoe'er  men  roam  and  range), 

Some  boy  beautiful  with  grace 

Dropt  from  thy  vanished  form  and  face, 


TO  AN  IONIAN  BOY  111 

Shall  proudly  trace  his  humble  line 

To  Lesbos,  and  to  thee  and  thine. 

Over  ocean  will  he  come, 

Seeking  the  ancestral  home, 

Where  freedom's  war-cry  with  fierce  clang 

First  against  the  tyrant  rang, 

Where  Sappho  loved,  Alcseus  sang. 

Will  he  look  on  sea  and  sun, 
On  isle  and  mount,  as  I  have  done,  — 
Youngest-born  of  time's  last  race, 
On  his  knees  lay  down  his  face, 
Mourning  in  his  lonely  mind, 
Finding  what  he  weeps  to  find  ?  — 
The  old  forms  gone  from  grove  and  hill, 
The  armor  rust,  the  music  still ; 
The  gods  of  Greece  long  overthrown, 
The  temples  razed,  the  statues  down ; 
Scant  relics  of  the  brain  and  hand 
That  for  the  soul  all  beauty  planned  ! 
Ah,  not  for  this  his  tears  shall  roll, 


112        THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

For  plinth  and  coin,  for  bust  and  scroll ; 
He  weeps  the  ruin  of  the  soul. 

O  City  of  the  violet  crown  ! 
O  race  familiar  with  the  god  ! 
O  lyric  isles  !     O  civic  town  ! 
The  soul's  first  home  was  this  dear  sod  ! 
O  Greece,  where  first  the  race  began 
To  know  itself,  and  reason  clear, 
Thou  the  Creator  wast  of  man  ! 
Thou  didst  abolish  human  fear  ! 
And  still  from  thee  he  takes  the  best 
That  his  dark  spirit  can  -enjoy ;  -3-, . 
Because  Greece  held  thee  to  her  breast, 
Therefore  I  love  thee,  wandering  boy  ! 
Nothing  in  all  the  world  so  sweet 
As  was  the  message  of  her  feet ; 
Nothing  in  all  the  world  so  dear 
As  now  her  human  aims  appear ; 
Nothing  in  all  the  world  so  wise 
As  was  the  bright  death  in  her  eyes ; 


TO  AN  IONIAN  BOY  113 

O  wisest,  dearest,  sweetest  far, 

In  love  and  beauty,  sport  and  war  ! 

Then  shall  that  far  American, 
Who  out  of  thee  shall  be  made  man, 
Looking  on  plain  and  sea  and  sky, 
Unto  his  gods  lift  up  his  cry  :  - 
"O  Land  of  Promise  in  the  west, 
So  to  the  shades  go  thou  not  down  ! 
Nor  with  great  Athens  take  thy  rest, 
My  country  of  the  starry  crown  !" 

Fair  befall  thee,  tender  child  ! 

Seek  thou  my  home ;  grow  sweet,  grow  mild  ! 

And  fair  befall  thy  race  to  be,  — 

Fairer  than  hath  fallen  to  me  ! 


THE   MOSQUE  AT  EPHESUS 

A     GRAY  shell  with  a  ruined  tower 

Whereon  the  wild  stork  sees 
On  the  Moor's  arch  the  wind-sown  flower, 

Within,  the  aged  trees ; 
Tranquil  decay,  and  silence  meet 

To  strew  round  old  belief, 
While  every  mellowing  stone  grows  sweet 

With  time's  unconscious  grief  ! 

Once  as  on  Salisbury's  moor  I  lay 

Where  the  great  stones  remain, 
I  felt  my  very  soul  grow  gray 

And  sink  into  the  plain ; 
A  solitary  lark  climbed  up 

In  the  dark  sunset  sky, 
And,  singing,  filled  from  heaven  the  cup 

I  drink  of  till  I  die. 

114 


THE  MOSQUE  AT  EPHESUS  115 

Now  world-wide  pours  the  music  rare 

Within  my  listening  mind ; 
I  hear  the  lark's  song  everywhere 

That  I  the  gray  stone  find ; 
Thy  lovely  Mosque,  O  Ephesus, 

Reverts  to  nature's  plan ; 
But  dying  gods  bequeath  to  us 

Their  deathless  faith  in  man. 

I  hear  the  song  at  Stonehenge  heard 

Abolishing  gray  death ; 
Again  the  rapture  of  the  bird 

Is  singing  in  my  breath ; 
It  rises  in  my  heart  of  hearts 

And  music  floods  my  brain  — 
Old  Mosque,  o'er  thee  it  fluttering  starts, 

And  soars,  and  comes  again. 

Ye  antique  trees,  grow  fresh  and  green 

Within  the  roofless  nave  ! 
The  song  that  cleaves  your  heaven  unseen 

Shall  nest  upon  my  grave ; 


116        THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

And  while  it  hovers  o'er  my  breast 
Yon  arch  shall  break  to  flower, 

And  the  wild  stork  shall  cap  his  nest 
White  on  the  mouldering  tower. 


THE  REVELLER 

A   VINEYARD   SONG 

T  TNWREATHE  thy  brow !  Thy  cheek  outvies 

The  golden  grape  in  lustres  rare ; 
The  rosebud  of  thy  mouth  denies 

The  living  rosebud  hanging  there ; 
Nor  teach  the  radiance  of  thy  eyes 

To  counterfeit  the  starry  air ; 
From  all  things  else  the  beauty  dies 

When  thou  art  near,  though  they  are  fair ; 
Star,  rose  and  grape  but  mirrors  warm 
Of  loves  that  from  thy  beauty  swarm, 
Thy  brief,  incarnate  shades ;   in  thee 
The  world  returns  to  unity. 

Unwreathe  thyself,  and  singly  shine 
Wine  of  the  world,  the  rose-divine 
Body  of  love,  desire  star-sown 
That  sparkles  in  the  midnight  zone,  — 
117 


118         THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

All  beauty  cast  in  passion's  mould 

In  thee  corporeally  bright,  - 
O  Dionysian  bloom,  unfold  ! 

Crown,  crown  the  revel's  height, 
Sweet  reveller  !     Thy  golden  cheek, 

Thy  rosebud  mouth,  thy  radiant  eyes, 
A  darling  of  the  gods  bespeak, 

Who  take  thee  to  the  skies ; 
With  hands  divinely  holding  up, 
As  'twere  youth's  flower,  the  vine-clad  cup, 
Drink  deep,  O  heavy-breathing  boy, 
Crush  on  thy  lips  long  draughts  of  joy  ! 

Then  bear  with  thee  to  heaven  along 
The  wisdom  of  the  vineyard  song ; 
Chime  and  charm  thou  mayst  not  bear, 
For  the  shadows'  source  reigns  there ; 
And  when  thou  puttest  thy  beauty  by, 

And  shall  at  last  unwreathe  thee  quite, 
Like  stars  that  on  the  distant  sky 

Suddenly  beam,  and  cease  from  light ;  - 


THE  REVELLER  119 

For  who  may  know  what  shall  befall 

After  the  whole  earth's  funeral  ? 

And  who  may  know  what  there  shall  be 

Without  the  senses'  imagery  ?  — 

Ah,  when  the  grape  and  rose  shall  shed 

Their  bloom,  and  garden-mould  shall  be, 
Reveal,  all  beauty  being  dead, 

Love's  imageless  eternity  ! 


BY  THE  TYRRHENE   SEA 


shepherd  folds  his  white 
Flocks  by  the  Tyrrhene  sea  ; 
My  wandering  thoughts  at  night 
I  fold  in  my  thought  of  thee. 

To  the  maiden  her  shepherd's  kiss 
And  the  flower  of  the  orange-tree  ; 

Boy  and  girl  have  their  bliss 

And  the  nightingale  sings  for  three. 

Night-long  he  sings,  night-long  I  hear, 
And  wakeful  croons  the  sea  ; 

Night-long  in  wakeful  music,  dear, 
I  fold  my  thought  of  thee. 


120 


"ONE  LAST  KISS" 


One  last  kiss  and  the  morning  star  were  one ; 
And  in  the  chorus  of  the  birds  the  sun 
Neared  in  his  glory.     I  into  the  dark 
Ocean  of  slumber  felt  my  spirit's  bark 
Slip  from  the  music  and  the  shining  vales ; 
The  song,  the  glory  filled  the  fading  sails. 


In  thy  chambers  are  many  lovers,  O  Mediterra 
nean  Sea ; 

Here,  in  a  niche  of  thy  caverns,  would  sleep  were 
strewn  o'er  me ; 

Slumber  as  deep  as  ever  the  sleep  of  the  spirit 
may  be  ! 


THE  REED  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


tfje 


OF  MY  FRIEND,  AND  MASTER 

AMONG  THE  LIVING, 
CHARLES  ELIOT  NORTON, 

I  DEDICATE 
THIS  LITTLE  SHEAF  OF  VERSE. 


THE  REED 

A  S  when  the  poet,  muttering  low, 

Doth  feel  his  blood  prophetic  flow, 
And  reaches  with  his  hand 
For  some  diviner  instrument 
To  give  the  coming  music  vent, 
My  hands  moved  to  and  fro. 

"O  Face  Divine  that  bent  over  my  youth 

With  sweet,  victorious,  battle-quick  breath, 

Who  sealed  on  my  lips  the  love  of  truth, 

And  taught  my  childhood  the  lore  of  death, 

And  I  caught  from  thy  bosom  the  glow  and  the  lift 

Of  thoughts  whereon  I  heavenward  drift,  — 

Spirit  of  Justice,  purest  and  best 

Of  the  powers  that  spring  from  the  human  breast, 

What  is  thy  will  ?"  I  murmured  low. 
"I  see  thee  sweep  thy  robe  from  the  land ; 
As  one  fain  to  go  I  see  thee  stand, 

And  I,  too,  am  fain  to  go." 

125 


126         THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

She  looked  as  one  who  sees  in  pain 
His  armies  waste  away  in  vain 

And  from  the  lost  field  turns ; 
His  plans  o'erthrown,  ambitions  fled, 
Glory  obscured,  and  comrades  dead,  — 

His  bosom  darkly  burns. 

"Thou  hadst  a  reed,"  she  said; 

"Its  notes  were  battle-born; 
I  would  hear  if  its  dumb  stops  keep 

Some  echoes  of  its  morn. 
Sing  me  the  hosting  music 

Of  men  who  march  to  death ; 
Bring  me  the  reed  of  thy  boyhood,  — 

Though  it  holds  but  a  little  breath, 
I  shall  hear  on  its  faintest  flute-note 

The  feet  of  a  million  men ; 
It  was  a  curious  instrument, 

And  seemed  both  sword  and  pen." 

I  took  the  reed  I  threw  away ; 
I  tried  again  its  music  rude ; 


THE  REED  127 

A  blush  came  over  the  laurel  spray, 

And  the  eagle  rose  from  the  wood ; 
And  the  reed,  as  'twere  from  a  brazen  throat, 
With  my  boyhood  breath  blew  a  trumpet-note : 

"Peace  be  with  God  !  armies  and  fleet, 
Marshal  them,  launch  them,  after  my  feet, 
Who  am  gone  to  the  field  where  dying  is  sweet ! 
Youth,  all  the  land  over, 
Your  manhood  discover ! 
Part,  maiden  and  lover  ! 

Swords,  over  the  border  to  the  realms  of  disorder  ! 
In  the  shadow  of  war  sleeps  the  fate  of  all  lands ; 
I  am  Justice,  —  the  web  of  the  world  in  my  hands." 

"Lo  !"  she  said,  "where  the  loud  cannon  spoke  for 

the  cause, 

Half  over  the  land  the  silenced  laws  ! 
Shall  they  bind  with  a  pact  the  realms  abroad, 
Who  maintain  not  the  bond  on  their  native  sod  ? 
What  noble  assizes  Americans  make 
With  bloodhound  and  rifle,  the  noose  and  the  stake  ! 


128         THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

The  strength  of  his  arm  is  the  taskmaster's  creed ; 
How  long  will  laboring  millions  bleed  ! 
They  mind  ill  the  lesson  of  times  gone  by,  - 
When  the  silence  is  deepest,  'ware  Truth's  war-cry  ! 
And  the  rich  man's  gift  with  his  lavish  gold 
Is  children's  children  to  usury  sold. 
War  hath  its  crimes,  which  may  time  decrease  ! 
The  crimes  universal  are  crimes  of  peace." 

Like  a  hand-fast  child  I  held  to  the  flute ; 

Deathly  wan  were  her  cheeks ; 
Fain  was  I  to  be  understood, 

As  one  who  stammering  speaks. 
I  pressed  the  reed  to  my  mouth ; 

I  spent  my  kiss  of  fire ; 
The  little  stem  enraptured  shook 

With  the  glory  of  the  lyre  : 

"With  the  popular  breath  the  planet 

This  way  and  that  may  roll ; 
I  am  the  Master  of  empires, 

I  am  the  Lord  of  the  soul. 


THE  REED  129 

Throne  whom  they  will  in  the  churches, 

Crown  whom  they  may  in  the  school, 
Who  obeyeth  me  is  the  Christian, 

Who  denieth  me  is  the  fool. 
I  buried  Egypt  at  daybreak ; 

I  doomed  Nineveh  and  Rome ; 
The  starry  spear  of  Paris 

Late  drove  my  judgment  home. 
With  ships  and  arms  let  nations 

Steel  hard  their  cities  and  coasts ; 
One  word  of  the  lonely  Truth-teller 

Lords  it  o'er  fleets  and  hosts. 
My  heralds  summon  Asia ; 

I  mine  the  Muscovite ; 
My  Peace,  my  War,  are  equal  powers, 

The  left  hand  and  the  right." 

"Ah,  here,"  she  said,  "how  was  my  coming  sweet, 
And  o'er  all  other  lands  was  this  land  dear  ! 

I  thought  to  fix  my  everlasting  seat 

Hereon,  and  stay  my  world-wide  wandering  here." 


130        THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Full  heavily  she  leaned  upon  that  lance 

Which  through  the  sides  of  nations  makes  its 
way; 

Then  saw  I  in  her  eyes  a  light  advance 
As  'twere  the  flaming  majesty  of  day. 

I  blew ;  on  that  weird  flute 

Seemed  coming  from  afar 
The  trample  of  all  human  feet 

That  ever  trod  this  star ; 
Hard  on  Turanian  rock, 

And  desert-soft  on  sands, 
Poured  the  innumerable  footfall 

Of  the  children  of  all  lands : 

"Not  for  a  single  age, 

Not  for  a  favored  land, 
Not  for  a  separate  race, 

Was  heavenly  Justice  planned ; 
But  destined  to  one  fold 

Of  science,  art,  and  love, 


THE  REED  131 

Are  the  wandering  peoples  all 

And  every  soul  thereof. 
Lo  !    where  the  old  East  flames, 

How  great  a  light  hath  broke  ! 
Lo  !    what  a  burden  falls 

From  Allah's  patient  folk  ! 
Their  feet  are  many  millions 

Who  toward  light  traveling  are, 
Where  world-wide  beams  thy  promise 

From  Freedom's  morning  star. 
Come,  though  grief  be  thy  portion, 

And  war  thy  housemate  be, 
Thou  canst  not  build  on  less  than  man, 

Nor  man  on  less  than  thee." 

I  rose,  still  fluting  in  the  dark, 

And  to  her  side  drew  nigh, 
And  all  the  while  new  stars  spread  out 

The  interminable  sky : 

"Through  many  thousand  ages 
May  man's  ideal  refine  ! 


132         THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Yet  here  in  nature's  periods 

The  brute  shows  half  divine, 
Who  thinks  that  he  who  loves  the  most, 

And  most  denies  his  lust, 
Who  giveth  all  and  taketh  nought  — 

Only  that  man  is  just. 
And  still  we  dream  beyond  this  truth 

What  deeper  glories  lie ; 
Come,  Justice,  teach  mankind  to  live, 

Teach  nations  how  to  die  ! " 

On  that  dark  strand  she  bent  her  head  full  low, 
Far  down,  and  with  her  tears  my  hand  impearled, 

And  drew  it  into  hers,  and  led  me  forth,  - 

"Come,"  said  she,  "sing  thy  reed-song  through 
the  world." 


LINES  FOR  THE  INGHAM  MEMORIAL  AT 
LE  ROY,   1911 


/^\NLY  yesterday  it  was  morning 

And  the  spring  put  forth  its  leaves  ; 
We  have  lived  ;    and  the  summer  is  warning 

Us  to  bring  in  our  sheaves  ; 
And  to  all  of  us  comes  one  thought 

As  we  look  to  the  westering  sun,  — 
How  little  of  all  we  have  wrought 

Was  by  our  own  hands  done. 

We  have  sown  the  homelands  over 

With  the  ancient  seed  of  the  home  ; 
Broad  acres  of  wheat  and  of  clover 

Laugh  again  to  the  sun  from  the  loam  ; 
But  our  joy  as  we  go  reaping 

In  the  green  field  and  the  gold 
Is  to  find  the  new  harvest  keeping 

The  color  and  weight  of  the  old. 

133 


134         THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

We  remember  the  forms  and  the  faces 

Round  our  youth  like  an  aureole ; 
We  remember  the  virtues  and  graces 

That  gave  us  heart  and  soul ; 
But  the  crowning  joy  that  we  cherish, 

The  source  and  the  stay  of  our  powers, 
Is  to  feel  in  our  lives  that  perish 

The  work  of  their  hands  in  ours. 

Through  times  and  seasons  flying 

We  have  found  one  thing  stand  sure, 
One  truth,  among  all  things  dying, 

The  years  leave  more  secure ; 
Only  what  is  spent  in  giving 

Escapes  from  wealth's  decay, 
Only  what  is  built  into  living 

Never  passes  away. 

Of  the  dust  are  man's  creations ; 

Both  dome  and  tower  shall  fall ; 
Dark  lies  on  its  foundations 

The  roof -tree  of  our  hall ; 


LINES  FOR  THE  INGHAM  MEMORIAL     135 

But  the  homes  the  soul  builds  fasting 

Of  truth  and  art  and  song, 
Unto  the  everlasting 

Mansions  of  light  belong. 

We  carve  with  last  thanksgiving 

The  bare  memorial-stone, 
Where  nothing  now  is  living 

And  all  but  memory  flown ; 
With  the  flower  that  blooms  here  never 

We  clasp  the  long-loved  name, 
But  in  us  it  lives  forever, 

The  Rose,  that  was  seed  and  flame. 


E.  A.  P. 

ON   THE   FLY-LEAF   OF   WHITTY's 

TN  the  proudest  of  the  nations 

Was  a  wandering  poet  born ; 
Skyward  its  accumulations 

Towered,  from  mine  and  forest  torn ; 
Never  state  was  so  victorious 

In  world-plundering  wars  of  gold ; 
Never  land  so  earthly  glorious 

Of  the  conquering  lands  of  old. 

From  the  star-bound  pole  of  heaven 

That  spins  in  lyric  mirth, 
Where  the  Pleiads  are,  the  Seven, 

Came  that  vagrant  soul  to  earth ; 
Echoes  of  some  lost  existence, 

Pre-natal  melody, 
As  of  angels  in  the  distance, 

Haunted  his  mortality. 

136 


E.  A.  P.  137 

But  because  the  poet  ever 

Needs  befriending,  most  of  men, 
And  his  soul  reposes  never 

In  the  gross  and  citizen, 
From  the  moment  that  he  quickened 

In  the  heavy  air, 
The  heavenly  spirit  pined  and  sickened 

Because  no  love  was  there. 

Spectral  thoughts  —  grim  foes  —  assailed  him 

Only  poets'  minds  evoke ; 
Nought  his  beauty  there  availed  him, 

Dying,  stroke  on  stroke ; 
Long  his  genius  pleaded,  pealing 

Melancholy  chimes,  — 
As  from  Paradise  came  stealing 

The  supra-mundane  rhymes. 

Then  his  living  turned  to  anguish 

Of  the  demon-driven  storm, 
And  men  saw  his  glory  languish 

Into  one  pale  form, 


138        THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Ghostly,  ghastly,  —  and  his  heart  was  torn  with 

Life's  wan  dream,  Despair ; 
And  the  beauty  he  was  born  with 

Faded  in  the  sepulchre. 

The  proudest  of  the  nations 

Watched  that  starved  power  decay ; 
Heard  the  maniac  lamentations 

Where  that  soul  of  beauty  lay. 
Now,  men  whisper,  genius  glorious 

Flees  that  barbarous  strand  forlorn, 
Lined  with  turrets,  gold-victorious,  — 

And  no  poets  there  are  born. 


"BEAUTIFUL  WINGS" 

"DEAUTIFUL  wings  that  beat  the  void, 

At  every  stroke  a  deathless  song, 
A  joy  embodied,  a  grief  destroyed,  — 
Mortal,  you  live  not  long. 

But  in  the  mind  you  still  shall  soar 
O'er  him  whom  you  leave  dead ; 

The  poet,  buried  evermore, 
Builds  heaven  overhead. 


139 


THE  DIRGE 

T  DREAMED  I  wove  a  shroud  of  flowers 

For  one  who  loved  me  young, 
My  playmate  in  the  childish  bowers 

Where  my  first  songs  were  sung ; 
I  dreamed  the  words,  I  dreamed  the  flowers, 

And  thus  the  dirge  was  sung.  — 

"There  was  a  boy,  a  lovely  child, 

Who  loved  me  long  ago ; 
I  found  him  in  the  lonesome  wild 

Where  buds  of  boyhood  blow ; 
I  loved  him  in  the  flowering  wild, 

And  laid  him  in  the  snow. 

"Many  years  hath  he  been  gone 

Where  shades  of  beauty  fare ; 
They  are  few  who  think  upon 

The  road  that  he  goes  there ; 

140 


THE  DIRGE  141 

He  put  away  the  sun ;   alone 
He  went  to  wander  there. 

"I  laid  his  body  in  the  snow, 

That  was  a  living  flower ; 
We  were  two  buds  that  love  made  blow 

The  self -same  hour ; 
And  I  had  many  years  to  grow, 

And  he  an  hour. 

"Violets,  that  were  his  eyes; 

Roses  that  his  kisses  were ; 
Breath  of  jasmine  be  his  sighs, 

And  his  tears  be  myrrh  ! 
Every  flower  that  soonest  dies 

To  him  minister ! 

"Many  years  he  travels  far 

In  the  flowerless  land ; 
None  to  honor  him  there  are, 

None  to  understand ; 


142         THE   FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

I  shut  my  laurel,  leaf  and  star, 
In  his  dear  hand."  — 


Oh,  is  it  that  eternity 

Hath  in  my  dark  flesh  sprung  ? 
Forty  winters  now  there  be 

Since  he  I  loved  was  young. 
Oh,  had,  unknown,  perpetually, 

Spirit  to  spirit  clung  ? 


DISTANCE 

from  my  earthly  home, 
Far  from  my  spirit's  goal, 
I  seek  across  the  endless  foam 
Pacifies  of  the  soul. 

To  me  the  singer's  lonely  bliss 
Far  on  the  chartless  sea  ! 

But  the  soul  of  distance  is, 
Dear,  to  be  far  from  thee. 


143 


TO   A  CHILD 

TTOW  shall  I  thee  remember 
From  springs  of  long  ago, 
Where  in  my  own  December 

I  think  upon  thee  now  ? 
Thou  comest  in  such  changeful  shapes 
That  memory  from  itself  escapes. 

A  winsome  elf  whom  beauty 
And  love  alone  made  wise ; 

Who  never  heard  of  duty, 
Nor  rules,  nor  sacrifice ; 

He  storms  me  with  his  kisses, 

And  tears,  and  sudden  blisses. 

What  transports  of  emotion 
His  fond  breast  could  conceive  ! 

What  heart-breaks  of  devotion  ! 
What  power  he  had  to  grieve  ! 

144 


TO  A  CHILD  145 

From  Napoli  the  memory  swells ; 
What  welcomes,  what  farewells  ! 

Aye  will  I  thee  remember  ! 

How  should  I  thee  forget  ? 
Like  the  New  Year  to  December, 

Press  to  my  bosom  yet ! 
Across  a  thousand  leagues  I  hear 
Thy  "Buon  Natale"  in  my  ear. 


A  LIFE 

T  HEARD  my  ancient  sea-blood  say, 

And  wise  in  youth  it  counselled  me,  — 
"When  women  lure,  when  men  betray, 
Break  topsails  for  the  open  sea." 

I  crowded  sail  on  spar  and  mast, 
And  half  the  world  I  left  behind ; 

But  in  my  breast  I  held  it  fast, 

That  truth  in  men  I  still  should  find. 

I  set  my  life  on  swords  of  three, 
My  back  against  my  castle  wall ; 

Now  should  I  cry,  "A  moi,  amis!" 
It  is  three  ghosts  would  come  at  call. 

Alone  upon  the  "Far  Away," 

And  nothing  human  sails  with  me ; 

My  bare  poles  dip,  through  sun  and  spray, 
The  dim  marge  of  God's  outer  sea. 

146 


DEATH  AND  FAME 

f  HAVE  planted  a  flower  on  the  peak ; 

My  soul  has  cast  its  star. 
Star  and  peak  !   and  dawn's  a-streak  ! 
And  my  tomb  is  where  they  are. 

Though  never  a  climber  scale  the  height 
Where  my  love  exhales  its  fire,  - 

Though  only  the  heavenly  side  of  night 
Shakes  with  my  soul's  desire,  - 

There,  on  the  peak,  a  life's  perfume  ! 

There,  cresting  the  dark,  a  star  ! 
There,  light  that  breaks  upon  a  tomb  !  - 

And  fame  is  where  they  are. 


147 


PEARY'S  SLEDGE 

T3  UDE  sledge,  that  shalt  the  mortal  relic  be, 

When  he  is  nameless  dust,  of  that  strong 

soul 

Who  won  the  great  adventure  of  the  Pole, 
I  read  the  lineaments  of  fate  in  thee. 
Thou  art  the  image  of  necessity, 

Framed  of  denial,  the  wise  will's  control,  — 
"Least  will  do  most,"  —  "Spare  all,  and  win 

the  whole," 
Thou  sayest,  —  "Art,  life,  are  brothers  unto  me." 

So  was  that  soul  accoutred,  in  and  out ; 

So  stood  he  on  the  gray  roof  of  the  world, 
Gazing  on  heavens  he  lifted  up  from  earth ; 

Illimitable  chaos  round  about 
Knelt  to  his  flag ;  victor,  beneath  him  whirled 

Earth's  axis ;  and  within  him  was  man's  mirth. 

148 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  ANTARCTIC 

"  T   HID  within  the  everlasting  dearth,  — 

And  who  art  thou  that  comest  ?    dreadful 

thou  art 

Unto  all  Being  who  hast  power  to  dart 
Thy  weird  self-knowledge  through  creation's  girth  ! 
What  is  thy  purpose  ?   Wherefore  was  thy  birth  ? 
Thou  of  the  mystic  understanding  heart ! 
What  thinkest  thou,  seeing  to-day  depart 
The  last  Unknown  from  the  all-conquered  earth  ? 

"What  prospect,  if  not  this,  should  give  thee  pause, 
O  Human  Eye,  whose  lustre,  age  by  age, 

Spreads  through  the  blind  deep  wherein  thou  wast 

born  ? 
Of  the  Eternal  Dark  thy  gendering  was ; 

Eternal  Want  has  been  thy  pilgrimage ; 

Oh,  to  what  cold  horizons  bring'st  thou  morn  !" 

149 


FAME 

HEAT  thoughts  had  swelled  my  breast  since 

morning  light,  - 

Of  one  who,  vibrating  the  ether,  spake ; 
And  one  whose  ray  abolished  the  opaque ; 
Sailors,  who  drove  from  either  Pole  the  night ; 
Aerial  Chavez  o'er  the  Alpine  height 
Icarian  borne,  the  eagle  in  his  wake ; 
The  twain  whose  love  unveiled  the  radium  flake ; 
And  him  who  dragged  the  pestilence  to  light. 

And  when  the  long  day  drew  to  evening's  close, 
And  on  heaven's  face  the  eternal  beauty  came, 

So  in  my  memory  gloriously  arose 
The  starry  universe  of  human  fame ; 

And  through  the  midst  thereof  uncounted  glows 
The  light  of  souls  who  died  without  a  name. 

150 


IN  MEMORIAM 

lEUot  Norton 


READ  BEFORE  THE  ALPHA  CHAPTER  OF  THE  PHI 
BETA  KAPPA,  HARVARD,  JUNE  16,  1913 


TTTHY  comes  the  wandered  poet  back 
To  tread  again  his  boyhood  track 
Where  all  must  changed  be  ? 
Long  since  the  brood  of  youth  is  flown  ; 
The  woods  are  still  ;  the  paths  are  lone  ; 
He  hangs  on  one  memorial  stone 
A  wreath  of  memory. 

Envy  me  not,  whose  hand  the  Master  took, 
His  firstling  charge,  boy  -leader  of  the  host 
Of  those  who  followed  in  the  after-time  ; 
Meet  is  it  that  I  praise  him,  —  who  forsook 
All  else  to  travel  the  steep  heavenly  coast 
Where  what  he  told  me  of  is  won  or  lost, 
And  aye  the  lone  soul  to  its  sun  doth  climb. 

151 


152         THE   FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

He  hardened  me  to  breathe  the  burning  frost 
Where  Truth  on  all  things  pours  its  naked  ray ; 
He  taught  me  to  neglect  all  worldly  cost 
And  through  that  shining  element  make  way 
Where  Reason  doth  the  spirit  of  light  obey. 
Yet,  with  prophetic  forecast,  evermore 
He  brought  forth  things  of  beauty  from  his  store ; 
And  in  my  bosom  fed  love's  fiery  core 
With  wisdom  sternly  tender,  warmly  high, 
That  through  love  only  doth  man  live  and  die, 
Howe'er  his  nature  may  through  art  refine ; 
Thus  had  he  from  the  deathless  Florentine 
Intelligence  of  love,  the  poet's  power ; 
And  oft  he  led  me  to  the  Muse's  bower. 

O  cherished  privacy  that  seems  my  own, 
And  memories  sacred  unto  me  alone  ! 
A  thousand  hearts  such  youthful  records  bear 
Of  him  who  gave  their  souls  to  breathe  free  air, 
Broke  up  their  pent  horizons,  winged  their  feet ; 
And  after  him  their  wondering  lips  repeat 


IN  MEMORIAM  153 

Honor  and  courtesy  and  truth ;  each  word, 
Dropped  from  his  mouth,  seemed  gospels  newly 

heard. 

So  did  he  lead  them  in  those  pastures  sweet, 
Loved  of  all  youth,  where  Beauty's  self  doth  dwell, 
And  the  fair  soul  is  its  own  oracle. 

A  grave  demeanor  masked  his  solitude, 
Like  the  dark  pines  of  his  seigniorial  wood ; 
But  there  within  was  hid  how  warm  a  hearth 
Hospitable,  and  bright  with  children's  mirth. 
How  many  thence  recall  his  social  grace, 
The  general  welcome  beaming  from  his  face, 
The  shy  embarrassment  of  his  good-will 
Chafing  against  the  forms  that  held  it  still ; 
Or,  in  more  private  hours,  the  high  discourse, 
With  soft  persuasion  veiling  moral  force ; 
The  reticent  mouth,  the  sweet  reserved  style ; 
Something  unsaid  still  lingered  in  his  smile ; 
For  more  he  felt  than  ever  he  expressed, 
Then  silent  most  when  in  his  conscious  breast 


154         THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Most  intimate  with  some  long-cherished  guest ; 
He  struck  the  dying  log,  and  still  the  spark 
Flashed  on  the  incommunicable  dark ; 
Or  by  his  open  window's  leafy  screen 
Mused  on  the  world's  inscrutable  fair  scene ; 
Or,  seeking  for  the  soul  its  hermitage, 
He,  meditative,  turned  the  poet's  page. 
Ay  me,  how  many  pictures  line  the  wall 
Of  that  long  memory,  and  his  face  in  all ! 

Others  with  critic  judgment  shall  refine 
Censure  and  praise,  and  his  just  place  assign, 
And  the  historic  portrait  nicely  blend, 
The  artists'  comrade,  and  the  poets'  friend ; 
And  all  that  doth  in  eulogy  have  end 
Others  shall  speak,  and  lesser  loves  shall  sing ; 
My  thoughts  of  him  on  vaster  orbits  swing ; 
The  star  revolves  about  its  parent  fire ; 
Still  from  his  ashes  leaps  my  young  desire ; 
Not  what  he  was,  but  what  he  gave,  is  mine, 
Inspiriting  the  loyalties  divine 


IN  MEMORIAM  155 

That  hold  men  true,,  and  in  their  actions  shine. 
So  full  of  heavenly  impulse  life  may  be, 
And  even  on  earth  breed  immortality. 

Fain  would  I  paint  for  coming  youth  to  view 

Him  whose  lone  light,  a  generation  through, 

The  fairest  flower  of  Harvard  to  him  drew, 

Our  guide  and  prophet  of  the  life  ideal. 

He  through  himself  best  made  his  great  appeal, 

Lover  of  beauty  found,  in  every  art, 

And  that  fair  treasure  could  to  us  impart, 

The  loveliness  that  shall  eternal  be, 

The  spirit  of  divine  antiquity 

Immortal  borne,  whatever  age  assail ; 

So  doth  the  soul  of  Greece  o'er  time  avail. 

This  his  chief  charge,  who  from  the  fountain-head 

Poured  baptism  on  our  eyes,  and  inward  shed 

On  the  young  soul  the  drop  of  ecstasy 

That  makes  the  soul  itself  beauty  to  be ; 

We  seemed  to  carve  ourselves  in  noble  lines, 

And  sculptured  on  life's  walls  our  great  designs. 


156        THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

What  could  we  else,  whom  Athens  moulded  there, 
Whose  breath  was  Italy  ?     The  wise  and  fair 
Of  every  land  mingled  that  golden  air 
That  bathed  our  youth.     O  life  beyond  compare, 
When  we  shot  up  in  that  dear  Master's  care  ! 

Ah,  long  ago  the  inexorable  years 

Dismissed  us  to  life's  labor  with  our  peers, 

Yet  not  from  him  divided  did  we  go ; 

His  counsel  stayed  us ;  still  would  memory  show 

The  man  we  honored,  who,  all  else  below, 

Laying  of  character  the  cornerstone, 

Taught  us,  in  this  rude  world,  to  stand  alone ; 

Nor  seldom,  o'er  the  ever-widening  years, 

Far-shining  on  the  public  view  appears 

That  private  stamp  that  most  a  friend  endears ; 

And  proud  we  saw  him,  justly  eminent 

Whatever  clamor  rose,  grow  eloquent, 

When  gusts  of  folly  swept  the  commonweal ; 

Still  from  his  hillside-peace  swift  words  he  sent, 

Whether  the  sentence  sweet  or  bitter  fell ; 


IN  MEMORIAM  157 

The  man  of  principle,  our  Abdiel, 

Still  faithful  found  to  his  unshared  ideal. 

Now  he  is  gone,  O  how  the  heart  grows  still ! 
How  deep  a  silence  lies  on  Shady  Hill !  - 
Joy  be  to  you,  ye  listening  youth,  rejoice, 
From  whom  another  age  awaits  its  voice ! 
In  you  is  He  who  comes  ;  but  we  depart ; 
In  you  beats  high  the  rising  century's  heart. 
O  faring  forth  from  this  soul-nurturing  air, 
So  may  you  live,  so  be  your  memory  fair. 


EPILOGUE 


THE  POET  TO  THE  READER 

L^ULL  many  a  poem  have  I  made 

That  never  by  the  world  was  heard ; 
I  am  the  Fowler,  not  the  Bird ; 
I  am  the  Body,  not  the  Shade. 

The  image  is  an  outward  thing 
Though  in  a  magic  mirror  shown ; 
But  in  their  essence  were  they  known, 

Poets  their  lyres  would  downward  fling. 

Their  choiring  breath,  their  star- girt  glow 
Is  matter's ;  and  their  songs  repeat 
Pulsations  of  the  ringing  feet 

That  through  creation  run  and  go. 

For  only  thus  can  mortals  hear 
The  music,  and  the  rapture  guess 
Of  the  invisible  loveliness 

Whose  shadows  enter  eye  and  ear. 

M  161 


162         THE  FLIGHT  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Lo,  beauty's  grace  and  love's  desire 
Are  but  the  singing  robes  I  don ; 
Apart,  the  soul,  its  vesture  gone, 

Sits  naked  in  creative  fire. 

For  it,  the  soul,  is  increate, 

And  when  in  music  it  takes  form, 
Mortals  are  ravished  in  the  storm 

Of  harmony  at  heaven's  gate. 

But  could  they  hear  the  song  I  sing 
When  all  apart  I  tune  the  lyre, 
Their  sluggard  veins  would  run  with  fire, 

And  from  their  lips  the  soul  take  wing. 

And  were  there  one  with  power  to  bear 
The  full  contagion  of  my  breast, 
Such  glory  would  his  arms  invest 

As  if  he  clasped  an  angel  there. 

For  though  my  music  world- wide  roll, 
By  thy  own  heart  must  it  be  sung ; 
The  master  chord  remains  unstrung 

Save  when  two  mingle,  soul  in  soul. 


'"THE  following  pages  are  advertisements  of  recent  im- 
portant  poetry  published  by  the  Macmillan  Company 


By  George  E.  Woodberry 
POEMS 

Cloth    I2mo    $1.50  net 

"  It  is  impossible  to  open  the  volume  anywhere  at  random, 
without  at  once  observing  as  its  prime  characteristics  a  purity 
of  line,  a  sweetness  of  melody,  a  fineness  of  sentiment,  not  to 
be  found  present  in  such  perfect  and  unbroken  harmony  in 
the  work  of  any  other  among  contemporary  poets."  —  Atlantic 
Monthly. 

HEART   OF   MAN 

Cloth    I2mo    $1.50  net 

Here  the  author  illustrates  how  "  poetry,  politics,  and  religion 
are  the  flowers  of  the  same  human  spirit,  and  have  their  feed 
ing  roots  in  a  common  soil  deep  in  the  general  heart  of  man." 

"  Books  like  this  of  Mr.  Woodberry's  are  not  common.  It  is 
not  alone  that  he  has  a  polished  style,  a  rich  culture,  original 
ity  of  thought  and  diction ;  it  is  a  certain  nobility  of  feeling 
and  utterance  which  distinguishes  '  Heart  of  Man '  from  the 
ruck  of  essays  on  literature  or  philosophical  subjects.  Those 
who  are  familiar  with  Mr.  Woodberry's  poetry  will  know  at 
once  what  we  mean.  .  .  .  Those  who  care  for  really  good 
reading  will  not  pass  this  book  by."  —  Providence  Journal. 

MAKERS   OF   LITERATURE 

Being  Essays  on  Shelley,  Landor,  Browning,  Byron,  Arnold, 
Coleridge,  Lowell,  Whittier,  and  others. 

Cloth     I2mo    $1.50  net 

41  It  is  a  service  to  students  of  the  best  in  literature  to  com 
mend  to  them  the  ideas  and  the  guidance  of  these  remarkable 
appreciations.  They  are  examples  of  the  broad  and  diverse 
range  of  equipment  which  the  true  critic  must  possess  —  the 
natural  gift,  the  wide  and  delicate  sympathy,  the  knowledge 
of  literature  and  systems  of  thought,  the  firm  grasp  of  the 
fundamental  principles,  vivified  and  illumined,  if  possible,  by 
the  poet's  insight  and  his  divination  of  the  heart  of  man. 
These  gifts  and  acquirements,  together  with  the  graces  of  a 
finished  style,  Mr.  Woodberry  does  certainly  display.  It  is 
not  too  much  to  say  that  as  a  critic  he  is,  on  our  side  of  the 
ocean,  the  legitimate  heir  of  James  Russell  Lowell  — to  (all 
appearances,  in  fact,  his  sole  inheritor  of  the  present  day."  — 
New  York  Post. 

PUBLISHED    BY 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York 


By  George  E.  Woodberry 


INSPIRATION  OF  POETRY 

Cloth,  I2mo,  $1.25  net 

"  A  fine  and  glowing  piece  of  constructive  criticism,  an  ardent 
defence  of  a  theory,  needing  much  this  fresh  emphasis  of  its 
truth  ...  in  many  ways  a  most  delightful  little  book." 

—  Providence  Journal. 

THE  TORCH 

Cloth,  rzrno,  $1.25  net 

A  series  of  eight  essays  on  race  power  in  literature,  the  titles 
of  the  separate  studies  being  "  Man  and  the  Race,"  "  The 
Language  of  All  the  World,"  "  The  Titan  Myth,"  "  Spenser," 
"  Milton,"  "  Wordsworth,"  and  "  Shelley." 

GREAT  WRITERS 

Cloth,  I2mo,  $r.25  net 
"  Carefully  wrought  and  singularly  beautiful."  —  The  Outlook. 

"  He  approaches  high  matters  with  a  subtle  simplicity  that 
lends  a  dignity  to  the  texture  of  his  prose,  and  reenforces  his 
humane  imagination  with  a  singularly  concrete  and  vivid  sense 
of  the  individuality  of  historical  periods."  —  The  Nation. 

SWINBURNE 

Cloth,  I2mo,  $1.25  net 

This  is  not  so  much  a  biography  as  it  is  a  subtle  and  subjective 
study  of  Swinburne's  poetry  and  of  his  poetical  impulses. 


EMERSON    (English  Men  of  Letters  Series) 

Decorated  cloth,  i6mo,  $0.75  net 

The  deep  insight  and  subtle  analytic  perception  which  have 
characterized  Professor  Woodberry's  studies  of  character 
elsewhere  are  notable  in  this  book,  and,  combined  with  the 
affectionate  attitude  of  the  writer  toward  his  subject,  give  a 
peculiar  value  and  distinguishing  charm  to  the  present  biog 
raphy. 

THE   MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

Publishers  64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


By  RABINDRANATH  TAGORE 


THE   GARDENER 

Translated  by  the  Author  from 
the  Original  Bengali 

Cloth,    ismo.    $1.25  net.    Postpaid,  $1.36 
FRONTISPIECE 


"  In  India,  Mr.  Tagore  has  a  reputation  of  an  extraor 
dinarily  exalted  and  universal  nature.  His  genius  must 
indeed  be  the  mouthpiece  of  a  national  aspiration  and 
philosophy  to  have  moved  so  profoundly  a  country  as  vast 
as  his." — The  Bookman  (London). 

"  It  seems  not  unlikely  that  this  poet  may  win  himself 
a  spiritual  empire  comparable  with  that  of  the  classic  Per 
sians;  the  future  may  see  in  his  work  the  expression  not 
merely  of  his  race  but  of  the  East  —  at  least  of  the  non- 
Turanian  East." — Laselles  Abercrombie. 

"The  prose-poems  pour  out  from  his  lips  not  merely 
thoroughly  Indian,  but  also  thoroughly  original  and  indi 
vidual  in  form  and  matter." — The  India  Times. 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

THE  PROBLEM  OF  EVIL  AND 
OTHER  LECTURES 

8vo. 


PUBLISHED  BY 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


By   RAEINDRANATH   TAGORE 


(Song  Offerings) 


A  Collection  of  Prose  Translations  made 
by  the  Author  from  the  Original  Bengali 

With  an  Introduction  by 
W.  B.  YEATS 

And  a  Portrait  of  the  Author  by 
W.  ROTHENSTEIN 

Clotk.    I2mo.    $1^0  net. 

"  His  poems  are  of  the  very  stuff  of  imagination,  and 
yet  gay  and  vivid  with  a  fresh  and  delicious  fancy.  Their 
beauty  is  as  delicate  as  the  reflection  of  the  colour  of  a 
flower."—  The  Westminster  Gosrffe. 

"They  reveal  a  poet  of  undeniable  authority  and  a 
gyjwfrnal  influence  singularly  in  touch  with  modern  thought 
and  modem  needs."—  The  Daily  News. 

"Mr.  Tacore's  translations  are  of  trance-like  beauty." 
—  The  Atkemrvm. 

"...  It  is  the  essence  of  all  poetry  of  East  and  West 
the  language  of  the  soul. 

—  The  Indian  Magazine  and  Review. 


PUBLISHED   BY 

THE  MCMILLAN  COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


IMPORTANT  BOOKS  OF  POETRY 

Three  New  Books 
By  JOHN  MASEFIELD 

SALT  WATER  BALl^DS 

doth.     i2mo.     %IJQO  net.    Postpaid  $uo. 

"Masefidd  has  prisoned  in  verse  die  spirit  of  life  at 
sea."—  Xcv  York  Sun. 

A  MAINSAIL  HAUL 

Cloth,     izmo.     $1^5  net.     Postpaid  $1.36. 


There  is  strength  about  everything  Masefidd  writes 

that  compels  the  feeling  that  he  has  an  inward  eye  on 
which  he  draws  to  shape  new  films  of  old  pictures.  In 
these  pictures  is  freshness  combined  with  power."'—  Jf  or 
York  Globe. 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  POMPEY 

Preparing. 

A  vigorous,  vivid  and  convincing  play,  in  the  virile  and 
impressive  vein  associated  with  Mr.  Masendd's  striking 
poetic  gifts. 

PUBLISHED  BY 

THE  mCMILLAN  COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue  Jfew  York 


IMPORTANT  BOOKS  OF  POETRY 

Net»  Editions  of 
JOHN  MASEFIELD'S 

Other  Works 
THE  DAFFODIL  FIELDS 

Second  Edition.     $1.25  net. 

"Neither  in  the  design  nor  in  the  telling  did,  or  could, 
'Enoch  Arden'  come  near  the  artistic  truth  of  'The  Daffo 
dil  Fields.'  " — Sir  QUILLER-COUCH,  Cambridge  University. 

THE  STORY  OF  A  ROUND-HOUSE, 
AND  OTHER  POEMS 

New  and  Revised  Edition.    $1.30  net. 

"The  story  of  that  rounding  of  the  Horn !  Never  in 
prose  has  the  sea  been  so  tremendously  described." — 
Chicago  Evening  Post. 

THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  and  THE 
WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

(Awarded  the  Royal  Society  of  Literature's  prize  of  $500.) 
New  and  Revised  Edition.     $1.25  net. 

"Mr.  Masefield  comes  like  a  flash  of  light  across  con 
temporary  English  poetry.  The  improbable  has  been  ac 
complished;  he  has  made  poetry  out  of  the  very  material 
that  has  refused  to  yield  it  for  almost  a  score  of  years." — 
Boston  Evening  Transcript. 


PUBLISHED  BY 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


IMPORTANT  BOOKS   OF  POETRY 

By  HERMANN  HAGEDORN 

POEMS  AND  BALLADS  doth.  I2mo. 

"His  is  perhaps  the  most  confident  of  the  prophecies 
of  our  new  poets,  for  he  has  seen  most  clearly  the  poetry 
in  the  new  life.  His  song  is  full  of  the  spirit  of  youth  and 
hope.  ...  It  is  the  song  that  the  new  century  needs. 
His  verse  is  strong  and  flexible  and  has  an  ease,  a  natural 
ness,  a  rhythm  that  is  rare  in  young  poets.  In  many  of 
his  shorter  lyrics  he  recalls  Heine." — Boston  Transcript. 

By  FANNIE  STEARNS  DA  VIS 

MYSELF  AND   I  Cloth.        12mo.        $1.00  net 

"For  some  years  the  poems  of  Miss  Davies  have  at 
tracted  wide  attention  in  the  best  periodicals.  That  note 
of  wistful  mysticism  which  shimmers  in  almost  every  line 
gives  her  art  a  distinction  that  is  bound  to  make  its  appeal. 
In  this  first  book — where  every  verse  is  significant — Miss 
Davis  has  achieved  very  beautiful  and  serious  poetry." 

— Boston  Transcript. 

By  JOHN  H ELS  TON 

APHRODITE  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Cloth.    I2mo. 

This  book  introduces  another  poet  of  promise  to  the 
verse-lovers  of  this  country.  It  is  of  interest  to  learn  that 
Mr.  Helston,  who  for  several  years  was  an  operative  me 
chanic  in  electrical  works,  has  created  a  remarkable  im 
pression  in  England  where  much  is  expected  of  him.  This 
volume,  characterized  by  verse  of  rare  beauty,  presents  his 
most  representative  work,  ranging  from  the  long  descrip 
tive  title-poem  to  shorter  lyrics. 

PUBLISHED   BY 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


IMPORTANT  BOOKS  OF  POETRY 


WILFRID  WILSON  GIBSON 
Daily  Bread 

New  Edition.     Three  volumes  in  one.    Cloth,  I2mo. 
$1.25  net. 

"A  Millet  in  word-painting  who  writes  with  a  terrible 
simplicity  is  Wilfrid  Wilson  Gibson,  born  in  Hexham, 
England,  in  1878,  of  whom  Canon  Cheyne  wrote:  'A  new 
poet  of  the  people  has  risen  up  among  us.'  The  story  of 
a  soul  is  written  as  plainly  in  *  Daily  Bread '  as  in  '  The 
Divine  Comedy '  and  in  'Paradise  Lost.'"— The  Outlook. 

Fires 

Cloth.    i2mo.    $1.25  net. 

"In  'Fires'  as  in  'Daily  Bread,'  the  fundamental  note 
is  human  sympathy  with  the  whole  of  life.  Impressive  as 
these  dramas  are,  it  is  in  their  cumulative  effect  that  they 
are  chiefly  powerful." — Atlantic  Monthly. 

Womenkind 

Cloth.    i2mo.    $1.25  net. 

"Mr.  Gibson  is  a  genuine  singer  of  his  own  day  and 
turns  into  appealing  harmony  the  world's  harshly  jarring 
notes  of  poverty  and  pain." — The  Outlook. 

PUBLISHED  BY 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


THISBOOKISDUE0NTHE^  — 
STAMPED 


SEP  28 1938 


A  I'M  23  V- 


25  1917 

' 

APR  IS  1919 


Woodberry,  G.E. 
— The  flltfit 


30037 


95* 
WB81 


f'/IO 


/•:      .      •' 

'    hi  f  •        _«    .A 


JUL  12  I9t«  ' 


tl  -  l; 


^/ 


0 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


